


Mine To Protect

by Zaharya



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (but not really - it'll make sense when you get to it), Albus Dumbledore is a meddler, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Draco is a sad bean, Harry Potter Has ADHD, Harry is a troubled bean, Healing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Narcissa is Queen Bean, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Past Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Powerful Harry Potter, Remus is a soft bean, Secret Relationship, Severitus, Severus is a grumpy bean, Smart Harry Potter, Torture, Wandless Magic, it escalated, this was supposed to be a one-shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 135,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26662969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaharya/pseuds/Zaharya
Summary: After the disaster at the Department of Mysteries, Albus Dumbledore wants to make sure that Voldemort has not placed any lasting enchantments on Harry while he possessed him. His inspection of Harry’s magic, however, reveals much more than expected: James Potter is not Harry Potter’s biological father. In order to keep this revelation secret for the moment, Harry is brought to Grimmauld Place with Remus Lupin as his guardian.Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy approaches Severus Snape in hopes to avoid being forced into Voldemort’s services. Seeing an opportunity, Severus decides to hide Draco and his mother with the help of the Order, thus landing them all at Grimmauld Place as well — much to Draco’s initial dismay.How is Harry going to deal with these news, his new housemates, and the revelations that are about to follow, while simultaneously confronted with the burdens of being declared the Chosen One and having to prepare for war?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Remus Lupin & Harry Potter, Remus Lupin/Severus Snape
Comments: 1000
Kudos: 1491





	1. Stripped

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first time I ever post any of my writing anywhere public, and it's only the second fanfic I ever started to write.  
> What started out as a little idea for some interpersonal drama now turned into a full-blown Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows AU. It is by no means finished, but it is fully outlined, so it will definitely be completed.  
> I am posting as I write, but my draft is 11-12 chapters ahead of what is posted here. So should I get into a real writing block for any reason I do have things to update regularly.  
> Tags will be updated as I write.
> 
> _All Harry Potter characters and canon-parallel plot points belong to JKR! Original characters (namely Sirona and Giada Navarro, as well as minor background characters) belong to me._
> 
> And just to be perfectly clear even though it should go without saying: I do not support JKRs bigoted views. Trans rights are human rights, and if anyone disagrees with that; please kindly leave.
> 
> Enjoy the story!  
> \- V.

Eight heads turned towards Severus Snape as he entered the hospital wing of Hogwarts in the early morning hours. Eight serious faces, most of them showing clear signs of grief. He wished he could just turn around and leave again. It had been a more than tiring night. 

After the disaster at the Ministry of Magic, the Dark Lord had summoned his followers, to blow off steam if nothing else. As most times, Severus had suffered most at his hands—the joys of being the Dark Lord’s favourite. His bones still ached from the Cruciatus curses he’d endured and he desperately wished to sleep. 

Yet, here he was. At the summon of yet another master of his: Albus Dumbledore, who’d called a top-urgency Order meeting, summoning everyone to Hogwarts immediately. Eight faces; Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, and Albus himself, all staring at him. 

Bracing himself for the expected disapproval of his fellow Order members, Severus stepped further into the room and approached the group of people that was so warily watching him.

“I came as fast as I could. The Dark Lord is displeased with the night’s events and demanded his followers’ presence until mere minutes ago. What exactly is so urgent?” He kept his voice steady, unwilling to show just how exhausted he was.

“Severus, yes, come and take a look, please,” Albus said, gesturing towards the bed they were gathered around. Frowning, Severus stepped closer, peering down onto the bed.

“That’s…Potter? What happened to him? He looks like Black. Why does Potter look like Black? Is this an attempt at concealing his identity? If so, maybe cover the scar,” he sneered, unable to fully control his foul mood.

“Albus, I think it’s time for explanations,” Minerva interjected. “We’re all here, now that Severus has arrived.”

“Yes, yes, indeed,” Albus mused. “It is quite fascinating, really. You see, after I brought young Harry back from the Ministry, I thought it wise to ensure that Voldemort hadn’t left any malevolent magic behind in his body. With his, albeit hesitant, consent, I performed several spells on Harry, to detect and strip any magic, that isn’t inherently his, from him. To my surprise, I discovered a rather complicated net of spells, intricately woven together and immensely tricky to disentangle—nearly impossible, in fact, had I not detected a…trigger, of some sort, that was seemingly intentionally built into the whole construction. As I began to work through the pattern from there, Harry lost consciousness and I brought him here. By the time we arrived and Poppy had administered her care, I noticed that Harry appeared…changed—an observation all of you shared. Nevertheless, I continued my task, until I was sure that none of the spells remained. Now, I’m unsure what caused this, but much more unsettling than his change in appearance, is his change in magical signature. You’ll see that it is quite drastically different to what it used to be. As we all know, a magical signature doesn’t simply change. It is a wizard’s essence, more unique than a fingerprint—it is _inherited_ and inextricably connected to one’s soul. It can, however, be concealed. Although that process is quite difficult, it is definitely possible.”

Albus gave them all a grave look. Severus’ mind began to race. Potter had always looked like a carbon copy of his father, now he didn’t anymore. Potter had always behaved like his father too, his magic had had the same flair, now his magical signature had changed. There was only one good explanation.

“I suspect that Lily may have concealed the fact that James Potter is not Harry’s biological father. Whatever charms she placed on Harry are gone now, revealing this.” Albus gestured towards the bed again. “I suppose we finally see the true Harry Potter. The question is, how is this going to affect him?”

“One moment, Albus,” Minerva cut in. “Are you suggesting that Lily Potter cheated on James? And if she really did, who _is_ Harry’s father?!”

Albus seemed unperturbed.

“Yes, I’m afraid it looks like Lily was indeed unfaithful. As to who the father is, I can only speculate. By all means, if you have a guess, do speak out. It should be no trouble at all to confirm or deny whether a specific person is or isn’t Harry’s father. All it takes is to look at their magical signatures.”

Minerva looked shocked.

“I can’t believe you’re so calm about this. This could change everything! The prophecy— It might not even be about Harry in the first place! It is rather specific regarding parentage, does this not concern you at all, Albus?”

“Alas, Minerva, it doesn’t. I am quite certain that the prophecy still applies to Harry. Most significantly, because of Harry’s connection to Voldemort. Voldemort has chosen his own greatest threat by trying to kill Harry as an infant.”

“Enough of the prophecy, Harry has a _father_ somewhere!” Remus exclaimed. “Even if it changes nothing for the Order, this changes _everything_ for Harry! He’ll wake up, not looking like himself, probably not feeling like himself either, only to be told that James Potter, the man he’s heard so much about, the man he knew as his father, is _not_ in fact his father, but instead _someone somewhere_ is and he might be _alive_. He might have a living parent.”

“Or he might not,” Moody said grimly. “You heard Severus: He looks just like Sirius. Sirius died last night.”

Remus laughed while Severus’ insides turned to ice. Could it be? Would Lily really have an affair with this _dog_? The boy did look remarkably like Black, but now that he gave Potter’s new face a closer look, he mostly saw Lily. Lily’s nose, Lily’s lips. Potter’s hair was even darker now than it had been before, but marginally less messy. His cheekbones were slightly more pronounced, his jaw a little stronger. He looked less boyish, more like a man. He was still recognisable, but barely, as if he’d gone through another round of puberty within a single night. He also looked extremely pale; likely the result of the ordeal he’d just been through.

“Sirius would never have slept with Lily,” Remus said firmly, still seeming oddly amused.

“And what makes you so sure of that?” Moody parried.

“I just know.” 

“That’s not a particularly convincing argument,” Severus replied.

“He’s gay, for Merlin’s sake!” Remus snapped. His amusement disappeared suddenly, replaced by immense grief. “Was gay, I mean. Not that it’s any of your business.”

A beat of silence followed that proclamation, although Severus noticed that not everyone seemed to be surprised. Moody didn’t even have the decency to look abashed.

“Well, not Sirius then,” he conceded. “Who else was close to Lily? Close enough to have an affair with her go unnoticed?”

All eyes turned to Remus.

“You can’t be serious!” Remus exclaimed, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

“Remus, there’s nobody else Lily spent as much time with as you, Sirius and James,” said Molly, wringing her hands. “Unless you’re suggesting Peter Pettigrew as Harry’s father, you’re the only—”

“Molly, he can’t be,” Minerva cut in. “Harry’s magical signature shows no signs of any creature magic. It would be unmistakable.”

“But there’s nobody else!”

_But there is,_ Severus realised with horror. But it couldn’t be. Absolutely impossible. He pushed the thought away, it was too ridiculous to even consider it.

“There has to be,” Remus insisted.

“But—”

“If you’re all quite finished, I’d like to know what you intend to do about this, Albus,” Severus interrupted, unwilling to endure the back and forth any longer. “The boy is obviously changed, but still recognisable. Whoever sees him will realise that he is not James Potter’s son, all they had in common before has disappeared. I do not believe it would be wise to announce this news too widely just yet, especially after what happened at the Ministry.”

“You’re quite right, Severus, we must understand the situation before we can allow it to become public knowledge. I’m afraid Harry can not return to the safety of his mother’s blood protection this summer. He’d undoubtedly be watched, even as he remains protected, and the change would be immediately reported back to Voldemort. No, he must remain hidden.”

Albus began to pace. There was silence in the hospital wing, all eyes on Albus, as he continued to pace back and forth for several minutes.

“Yes,” he mumbled eventually, returning to stand next to the bed. “Yes, that will work.”

“Care to enlighten us, Albus?” Moody asked wryly.

“We will bring Harry to Grimmauld Place,” Albus announced. “Since Sirius made Harry his heir, the house should now recognise him as Lord Black, Head of House Black—even though he’ll eventually have to go and officially claim his inheritance at Gringotts. We will place a new Fidelius charm over the house, to ensure that the protection is intact. Harry will be safe and hidden there. It is technically his home now, after all. The Black’s family magic will only add to his protection.”

Several of the group nodded in agreement. Severus didn’t react at all. It seemed like a sensible plan, keeping the boy hidden for now.

“I’ll go with him,” said Remus.

“Yes, that would be good,” Albus agreed. “Let us get started, then.”

Minerva summoned three house-elves and ordered them to gather Potter’s belongings, while Kingsley and Moody returned to whatever duties they had. Molly stayed at Potter’s side, as did Remus. 

Seeing that he was no longer needed, Severus turned to go, looking forward to finally get some rest, when Albus stopped him. “One moment, Severus, I must speak with you.” 

Severus gave a small nod and followed Albus into the empty corridor.

“Harry now more than ever has to master Occlumency. I ask you once again to teach him. Will you be able to work with him this time? Perhaps you can adjust your methods to his needs somewhat?” 

Severus suppressed an exasperated groan and nodded instead.

“I will, Albus, although the boy shows absolutely no talent for it, I will manage somehow.”

“Good,” Albus said, seeming satisfied. 

Once more, Severus turned to leave.

“Oh, and Severus,” Albus called after him, “if you happen to think of anyone who might be Harry’s father, you will tell me, won’t you? After all, you also knew Lily well.”

Severus whirled around to glare at the old man. What exactly was he implying? But Albus just stood there, eyes twinkling and his face otherwise unreadable.

“Of course,” he bit out. Before anyone else could ask anything of him, he spun and finally fled to his quarters for some well-deserved rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope that was enjoyable and I'd love to hear any feedback you might have.  
> \- Z.


	2. Grimmauld Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up at Grimmauld Place and notices that not everything is as it used to be.

Harry Potter’s head was throbbing. He sat up with a groan, rubbing his temples, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. He reached blindly for his glasses, but only grasped at air. Confused, he opened his eyes to a dark room. He wasn’t in his dorm. 

Suddenly, memories from the previous night came rushing back and he felt like someone had punched him in the gut. Sirius. Sirius was dead and it was his fault. 

Grief threatened to swallow him whole. He tried to ground himself by digging his nails into his forearm, with mediocre success. Still, he managed to breathe again, and forced himself to focus on his surroundings. He still needed to find his glasses. Expecting to be in the hospital wing, he turned to the other side, his hands finding a nightstand this time. It felt wrong. Like wood. The bedside tables in the hospital wing were metal—Harry should know after spending so much time there.

He found his glasses and, relieved, he put them on. His wand lay right next to them. Harry cast a dim Lumos and looked around. The furniture in the huge room was dark. To his right two armchairs, made of nearly black green velvet, stood in front of a large fireplace next to a wooden bookcase that spanned over an entire wall, with a small couch table between the chairs. On the opposite wall, a desk stood under a large window, which was covered with heavy, dark grey curtains. 

_Grimmauld Place_ , Harry realised. How the hell had he gotten to Grimmauld Place? The last thing he remembered was Dumbledore wanting to perform some spells on him, to make sure Voldemort hadn’t done any funny business while he’d possessed Harry. 

He looked around the room again. To his left he spotted his trunk next to a large chest with Hedwig’s cage on top of it. Someone had brought his stuff at least.

With a flick of his wand, he ignited the lamps in the room and extinguished his Lumos, before slowly getting out of bed. He desperately needed the loo. 

The first door he tried revealed an impressively large empty closet. _Not this one then,_ he thought, wandering over to the next door. The bathroom he found was bigger than his bedroom at the Dursley’s and seemed to consist almost entirely of black marble. Harry gaped in wonder. Whoever brought him here—probably Dumbledore—must’ve put him into the master bedroom where Buckbeak used to be. Distractedly, he wondered where Buckbeak was now, and how they’d gotten the smell out of the room. 

Still amazed by the luxury of the bathroom, he decided that he might as well make use of it and take a shower, before dealing with whatever was going on. There must be a reason why Dumbledore brought him to Grimmauld Place—term hadn’t even ended yet, and if it had, he usually would’ve insisted Harry return to the Dursley’s as always. Maybe freshening up would help with his headache too, which was still strong enough to make his vision go blurry.

Half an hour later, Harry felt refreshed as he stepped out of the shower and in front of the sink to brush his teeth. He picked up his glasses, which he’d taken off before showering, put them back on before looking up into the mirror—and froze. He hadn’t payed any attention to his reflection before, having been distracted by his headache, but now he was properly looking at himself for the first time since waking up. He looked different. _Very_ different.

“What the hell?” he mumbled, slightly shocked.

His eyes were still bright green, he noted in relief. It was his most obvious connection to his mother and he’d loathe to loose his only resemblance to her. Almost everything else about his face was different, though. Sharper. His cheekbones were high, his jaw was much more pronounced than he remembered. His nose was different too, although only slightly—maybe a little straighter. He felt like he’d seen that nose before, but he couldn’t pinpoint where. His hair, however, was by far the most pronounced change. Whereas it had been perpetually messy before, it now lay almost perfectly straight, shining deep black.

All in all, he barely looked like himself. For several minutes, Harry simply stood there, examining his new face—and body. He felt…taller. Was he taller? How could he be sure—broom, yes. 

He hurried out of the bathroom and grabbed his broom, which was settled in the corner of the bedroom, holding it up next to himself. Definitely taller. He whirled around and went back into the bathroom, this time turning to a full-length mirror on the wall opposite the bathtub. Everything felt different, somehow. His physique hadn’t changed as drastically as his face, he was still lean and rather skinny, but his shoulders seemed a little broader.

He was…attractive. Harry felt odd to think such a thing about himself, but he couldn’t help it. He looked like he’d grown up overnight, like an adult. Harry decided that he didn’t mind the change at all, he rather liked it, actually. The only question was: Why had it happened?

Frowning, he stepped out of the bathroom, snatched a set of clothes from his open trunk in the corner and dressed quickly. Pacing around the room, he tried to recall the last thing he could remember and another wave of grief hit him, as his thoughts immediately went to Sirius. Struggling to breathe, he tried to force his thoughts away from his dead godfather. Afterwards, what happened afterwards?

_I trashed Dumbledore’s office_ , he remembered, and the thought was amusing enough to let him breathe properly again. It didn’t last long. His chest constricted again, as he remembered the prophecy Dumbledore had told him about. He’d have to think about that later, too. But it didn’t explain the changes in the mirror. 

But what else had even happened? Dumbledore wanted to perform some sort of spells on him to make sure Voldemort hadn’t messed with or put some sort of curse on him, and then—nothing. That was the last thing he remembered. Harry frowned. Had he passed out? Just what kind of spells had Dumbledore done?! Then it clicked: Dumbledore’s spells were supposed to rid Harry of any foreign magic put on him—whatever magic had been on him must’ve somehow changed his appearance. Feeling dizzy, he sank down onto the bed. He couldn’t grasp a clear thought, it was all too much. Who would put such charms on him? And why?

His train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Harry? Harry are you up?”

In two strides, he was at the door, yanking it open to reveal Remus Lupin.

“Remus,” he breathed, infinitely glad that it wasn’t Dumbledore. Remus enveloped him in a fierce hug, before holding him at arms length and mustering him from head to toe.

“You look better. How are you feeling?” Remus asked. Harry stepped back to let him into the room.

“A bit of a headache, but I’m alright, I guess. Just very confused.”

“I thought you’d be, yes. I suppose you’ve already had a look in the mirror then?”

Harry nodded.

“Why don’t you sit down, Harry? Here,” said Remus, holding out a small piece of chocolate.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. Remus gave him a small smile and gestured towards the armchairs. Giving Remus another eye-roll, Harry resigned and settled down in one of the dark recliners, facing Remus expectantly.

“You remember that Dumbledore wanted to check you for foreign magic?”

Harry nodded, nibbling on the chocolate.

“Well, it seems he found some charms placed on you, which he removed. You collapsed during the process, which indicates that they were rather powerful in nature. Honestly, even if you hadn’t collapsed, it’s obvious that these charms weren’t placed on a whim. According to Dumbledore, it was a rather intricate pattern of spells to unweave. Anyway, after all the charms were removed, Dumbledore noticed the changes in your appearance, and ran a few more spells to check for other…transformations.” Remus paused, giving Harry an odd look, almost apprehensive. Harry felt uneasy.

“Harry, it seems that these charms did not only alter your exterior, but also concealed your magical signature. How much do you know about magical signatures?”

Harry shrugged. “Not much, to be honest. I know it’s unique to each person.”

“Yes,” Remus agreed, nodding, “it is indeed unique to the individual. However, it is also heritable, in a certain way. A child’s magical signature is like a blend of its parents’ magical signatures. It is difficult to explain, but it is possible to identify how closely someone is related to someone else, simply by looking at their magical signatures.”

Remus took a deep breath.

“Harry, both your appearance and your magical signature were charmed to resemble James Potter. Now that these charms were stripped down, the resemblance is gone. You— Can you guess what that means?”

Harry’s insides had turned to ice. There was only one way to interpret Remus’ words, but that couldn’t be. Absolutely not. No.

“No,” he breathed, “it can’t be. It’s not possible.”

“Harry,” Remus began, looking rather miserable, “I know this is quite a shock, trust me I’m just as shocked as you are. We all are. I—”

“We?” Harry looked up sharply. “Who’s we? Does the whole world know about this already?”

“No! Of course not. Only the core-members of the Order. Dumbledore called an emergency meeting two days ago.”

Harry blinked, momentarily forgetting his confusion and rising anger.

“Two days ago? I was out for two whole days?”

“Yes, Harry. Lily’s charms ran deep, removing them took a lot out of you. I imagine that’s also why you still have a headache. That, and because you haven’t had any food or water for two days.” Remus drew his wand and flicked it at the door, summoning a plate of food and a can of tea, which he floated onto the little table between the armchairs.

“Here, eat, you’ll feel better. Physically at least.”

Numbly, Harry reached out to take a sandwich. He passively registered that his stomach was rumbling and forced himself to take a bite. It did help, he supposed, but his chest felt hollow. He was struggling to comprehend the full weight of what Remus had told him.

James Potter wasn’t his father. His mother had put charms on him to hide that fact. His mother didn’t want anyone to know. Not even him. A stab of betrayal made his gut churn. Didn’t he deserve the truth? Had she intended for him to never find out? Was he supposed to live his whole life believing that he was James Potter’s son? 

Suddenly feeling nauseous, he put the half-eaten sandwich down. Remus was watching him concernedly. 

“Harry?”

“Why?” he choked out, tears filling his eyes. “Why would she do that?”

Remus frowned, his eyes full of pity.

“I’m assuming she was trying to protect you. Lily loved you more than her life. If she believed you’d be more at risk if people knew that James wasn’t your father, she’d have done anything to prevent anyone from finding out.”

“Even me?” Harry demanded, voice rising. “Was I supposed to never find out? Was I supposed to believe a lie for my entire life?!” He was shouting now, but Remus didn’t flinch.

“I don’t think so, Harry. Dumbledore said that there was a hook in the pattern, a sort of trigger that would’ve unravelled it all at some point. Lily probably intended the charms to dissolve when you turned seventeen.”

“And if James isn’t my father, who is? Are you telling me my father might be alive somewhere?”

“We don’t know, Harry. He could be.”

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He busied himself with emptying a full cup of tea, to avoid having to answer again. Remus watched him patiently. Finally, Harry set down his cup and turned to face Remus again.

“I want you to tell me everything. Every word Dumbledore said, everything you know.” Harry’s voice was hard and his eyes gleamed with determination. Remus swallowed, but nodded.

“Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

“Thank you. First I want to know what happened to the others, though. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Neville. Are they alright?”

“They’re fine, they’re all safe and sound back at Hogwarts. They worry about you. Dumbledore had to swear to them that you’re safe, otherwise they’d have abandoned Hogwarts immediately to look for you. Hermione and Ginny were especially fierce in their demand to know where you are.”

Harry smiled. That sounded like them alright. His worries appeased for now, he settled deeper into the armchair. This was going to be a long conversation.

“So,” he said, “tell me everything.”

And Remus did. He recounted how Dumbledore had summoned the Order in the middle of the night, how they had waited for Snape, and how Snape had said he looked like Sirius. At the mention of his godfather, Harry stiffened.

“Sirius?! Sirius could’ve been my father?”

Remus smiled sadly.

“No, Harry, Sirius wasn’t your father.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because Sirius wasn’t straight, he liked men.”

Harry frowned, thinking back to the Triwizard Tournament and Cedric, then thinking of Cho.

“So? I like men, but I also like women. Why are you so sure Sirius didn’t like both too?”

Remus gave him an odd look, but didn’t comment on his admission. He shook his head.

“I’m sure, Harry. Even if Sirius was bisexual instead of gay, he’d never have slept with Lily around the time you were conceived.”

“But how do you know? You can’t possibly be sure.”

Remus’ got a wistful look then, giving Harry a sad smile.

“I know because Sirius would never have cheated on me.”

Harry gaped at him. Remus’ smile widened a little.

“You…and Sirius?” Harry caught himself, getting over his initial surprise quickly. “I thought you two were just friends? How did I never notice any of that in the last two years?”

“Well, things were rather complicated, weren’t they? First, Sirius was on the run for a year and we could barely communicate with each other. Last year, we were slowly figuring things out, so we kept it all very private. I’m sorry for not telling you, Harry, but we weren’t sure how you’d take it—having grown up with Muggles you might have different views on homosexuality. Not to mention that the thought of your godfather and your former professor dating each other might have been…odd. And since everything was still on rather thin ice, we didn’t want to put that on you, in case it wouldn’t work out in the end after all.” Remus sighed heavily. “We had a lot to work through, but we were getting closer again, but now—”

“Now he’s gone, because of me.” Harry’s chest felt hollow again and at the same time he wanted to throw something.

“No, not because of you. Never think that way, Harry!” Remus said heatedly. “Bellatrix killed Sirius, not you.”

“But he was only there to save me, if I hadn’t gone to the Ministry—”

“Voldemort lured you into a trap. He does that. He’s convincing. Nobody is blaming you, Harry. Anyone would’ve fallen for this deception, it’s not your fault.”

Harry didn’t answer. He didn’t trust his voice, not with how close he felt to breaking down sobbing. His mind was replaying the moment it happened. Bellatrix’ laughter echoed in his ears, mocking him, driving him mad.

“Harry, look at me.”

He couldn’t meet Remus’ eyes, couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all his fault, no matter what everyone said.

_“Harry,”_ Remus said again, getting off his chair and kneeling down before Harry, forcing him to meet his eyes. “It is _not_ your fault that Sirius died. I know it isn’t, Dumbledore knows it isn’t, everyone knows it isn’t. It is not your fault. Can you believe me when I tell you that?”

Tears ran down Harry’s face as he managed a shaky nod, before beginning to sob. Remus pulled him into a tight hug, and for a while, they just stayed like that while Harry cried, grieving the closest thing to a father he’d ever had.

“I don’t know what to do without him,” he choked out between sobs.

“I know, cub, I know. But you have me, I’ll always be here.” Remus produced a handkerchief and wiped Harry’s face. “I won’t ever abandon you, cub. Even if we find your father, I won’t give you up. You’re family to me, Harry.”

Harry cried harder at that, tightening his arms around Remus, scared to let him go. Remus waited patiently, running his hand up and down Harry’s back soothingly.

After a while, his sobs quieted and he tentatively eased his hold on the other man. Remus pulled back slowly, taking Harry’s face in his hands.

“We haven’t been as close as I’d have liked until now, and I understand that I can’t ever replace Sirius, but I want you to know that I’m always here for you. In fact, I’ll be the one staying here with you over the summer. Dumbledore agreed that you’d be safest here for the time being and approved that I be the one watching over you.”

Finally, Harry gave a small smile. The grief he felt hadn’t lessened in the least, but knowing that he wouldn’t have to return to the Dursleys, that he could stay at Grimmauld Place with Remus instead was almost a dream come true. It was enough to momentarily distract him, at least.

“Thank you, Remus,” he said quietly.

“Anything for you, cub,” Remus replied, giving him another quick hug. “Do you still want to talk about what Dumbledore said, or do you want to rest a little?”

“No, I’m fine. I want to know everything.”

“Alright then, but please eat while I tell you. You’ll need your strength again soon enough.”

“Fine,” Harry replied, picking up his half-eaten sandwich again.

Remus nodded approvingly and Harry settled back into his armchair, as Remus finally began to explain everything that had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that and again I'd love to hear any feedback you might have.  
> \- Z.


	3. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco asks Severus for help and Severus recalls a memory he has buried long ago.

Severus looked up from his reading when his wards alerted him, announcing a visitor. There weren’t many people the wards allowed to enter in the first place, so the list of potential visitors was rather short. True enough, Severus wasn’t surprised when he saw Draco Malfoy stepping through the door into his quarters.

“Draco, what brings you here?”

His godson looked up at him, visibly afraid. Severus frowned. Had the Dark Lord acted faster than he’d anticipated? Worry shot through him. He’d thought he had some time to find a solution, at least until term officially ended.

“Severus, I need your help, please,” Draco said, his voice pleading.

“Why don’t you sit down and tell me what’s going on?” He gestured towards the sitting area and summoned two cups and a can of tea. Draco sat down at the edge of the black leather couch, looking far from relaxed. He was fidgeting. Draco never fidgeted. Severus frowned again, his worry growing by the second. For a moment, he was tempted to simply grab Draco’s arm and push up his sleeve, see for himself whether he was too late already. He controlled himself.

“Mother heard you,” Draco said, barely meeting Severus’ eyes, “you and the Dark Lord. She heard what he plans for me. Severus, please, I can’t do this. I don’t want to be a Death Eater.”

Severus let out a breath of relief. He wasn’t too late. Better, even, Draco wouldn’t fight his attempts to spare him from a terrible fate. He took another look at his godson. The boy looked terrified—good. He should be terrified, that’d make things easier.

“You— What you said to him, you were trying to get him to change his mind, weren’t you? You don’t want this for me either. _Please_ , I beg you, help me. I need to get out of this somehow. With my father out of the picture I can get away, mother too. He’ll never find us without my father’s help, without the family traces. I don’t want this anymore, it’s pure madness! I—”

“Draco!” Severus interrupted Draco’s increasingly frantic rambling. “I understand. Of course I’ll help you, I’m glad you came to me with this. In fact, I was already trying to find a solution, but so far couldn’t find a way to hide both you and your mother.”

He tapped his lips, thinking.

“It’s only been two days since Lucius was arrested, if we play this well, you could return to Hogwarts after the summer—where you’d undoubtedly be the safest. You’d have to act fast, though, is Narcissa ready to leave on short notice? Can she gather whatever possessions you want to keep and didn’t bring to Hogwarts for you?”

Draco nodded. He looked almost hopeful now, despite the fear still lingering in his eyes.

“Good. That only leaves the question of where you’ll go.” Severus began to pace the room.

“We have the French Malfoy estates—” Draco began, but Severus cut him off, “No, the Dark Lord already has too many people inside the Ministry. If you leave the country it’ll be too obvious that you’re fleeing from him. It’d be best if you just disappeared upon your return from school, possibly with the excuse that without Lucius, you didn’t feel like the Manor was your home any longer—we’ll come up with something if you ever get into the situation of having to explain in the first place.”

Draco had gone even paler than he already was, but he nodded.

“You obviously can’t go to any of your Slytherin friends, since most of them are connected to Death Eaters somehow, the Dark Lord would get to you in no time and there’d be no getting out of it then.” 

Suddenly, a silver wolf bounded into Severus’ quarters, interrupting his pacing. Remus’ Patronus floated in front of his desk for a moment, before it began to speak.

“Severus, Harry has woken up a few hours ago. I’ve already warned him that he’ll have to continue his Occlumency training and we’re expecting you whenever you’re free to start the first lesson. There’s enough room for you at Grimmauld Place if needed, it’s safest.”

Draco’s head snapped up and Severus had to suppress a groan. He’d have to tell Remus again to send owls, rather than a Patronus. While they had ways to prevent any messages from being delivered while in the presence of the Dark Lord or his marked followers, these spells didn’t hinder sensitive messages from being overheard by others that weren’t marked. Draco eyed him suspiciously now, and Severus knew there was no way he could talk his way out of this, the boy could be relentless.

“Why are you giving Potter lessons in Occlumency? And where is he? Why did he not return to school?” Draco asked, crossing his arms.

“That’s none of your concern,” Severus answered curtly, hoping Draco would just let it go. Then a thought struck him. Remus had offered him to take up residence at Grimmauld Place. Grimmauld Place was big enough to house two more people.

“How is that none of my con—”

“Actually, you’re right,” Severus interrupted him. “it appears this is your concern.”

Draco looked at him in surprise, snapping his mouth shut. Severus resumed his pacing, mumbling to himself.

“Yes, that’ll work. Grimmauld can hold four people, easily. Narcissa would feel at home. I only have to convince the Order to let them stay—”

“What are you on about?” Draco demanded.

“Listen, Draco, I have a solution to your issue. I have a place for you to go to over the summer. It has excellent protection, far better even than if you’d be going to France—it’s frankly the only sensible option, as far as I can see.”

“I sense a ‘but’ there.”

“You won’t be living there alone.”

“Please tell me you’re not actually suggesting that I live in the same house as _Potter,_ ” Draco whined.

“I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’m suggesting. It’s the safest place possible for anyone trying to hide from the Dark Lord. It’s perfect. And since I’ll have to teach Potter, I can check in with you regularly. You’d be safe.”

“My sanity wouldn’t be safe.”

“Draco,” Severus admonished.

“You _know_ how I feel about him!” Draco complained, giving him a rather nasty look. Severus almost rolled his eyes. Yes, he knew rather well how Draco felt about Potter, much more so than Draco suspected, probably more so than Draco himself. He’d never understand the boy.

“You’ll survive. Or would you rather take the mark?”

Draco paled significantly and hastily shook his head.

“Of course not,” he replied, albeit still put out. “Alright, fine. But if Potter acts like a prat, I will hex him.”

“Sure, you do that,” Severus answered dismissively, his thoughts already elsewhere. He had to talk to Albus about this plan, immediately. Although he was fairly sure Albus would approve of saving Draco from having to take the Dark Mark, he was hesitant to give definitive promises to Draco before discussing it with the headmaster first. Still, if it all worked out Narcissa had to be ready.

“Floo-call your mother, Draco. Tell her to get ready to leave as soon as I’m back. If everything goes well, I can bring Narcissa to a safe place tonight.”

Draco’s eyes widened. He jumped up, hurried to the door, and was gone within seconds, leaving Severus standing alone in his quarters again. He quickly sent a Patronus to Remus, announcing his visit in a few hours, along with a careful mention of potential guests, before immediately conjuring another one and sending it ahead to Albus to request a meeting, as he began to make his way towards the headmaster’s office. It was the last week of term and students were crowding the corridors, lounging about lazily. Umbridge’s disappearance had elated everyone’s mood, resulting in an overly cheerful atmosphere he didn’t appreciate. The students barely showed any restraint in expressing their satisfaction with recent events. Severus sneered in annoyance, even though most of them did their best to get out of his way upon seeing him approach. 

Reaching the headmaster’s quarters, he gave the password to the stone gargoyle and entered, finding Albus waiting for him expectantly.

“Severus,” Albus greeted him, smiling, “your message sounded rather urgent, what brings you here?”

“It’s Mr Malfoy, as expected the Dark Lord is planning to recruit him into his ranks as soon as he returns to the Manor. He sought me out, asking for my help to avoid that.”

Albus’ eyes lit up.

“Why, that’s wonderful news! His refusal, of course, not Voldemort’s intention to recruit the boy. I gather you’ve come up with a plan?”

“I have,” Severus confirmed. “We’ll have to hide both Draco and his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, if we want to ensure that the Dark Lord holds no leverage over him. Narcissa never expressed any sympathy for the Dark Lord, I believe her to be trustworthy.”

“Certainly,” Albus agreed, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

“I want to hide them at Grimmauld Place.”

Albus’ smile fell, but Severus continued before he could interrupt.

“Hear me out, please. While Potter resides there it can’t be used as Headquarters, not until he has mastered Occlumency. The house is big enough to room four people, easily, and Narcissa would feel somewhat at home. If we make her feel welcome, she might be a useful ally in this war, and the same goes for Draco. The boy is talented, and quite powerful, too.” He frowned slightly. “There is, of course, the issue of Draco and Potter being rather at odds with each other, but I believe with Narcissa there to control Draco it’s manageable. It’s the safest place for them, probably the only safe place at all.”

Albus regarded him for a moment, then nodded minutely.

“You may bring the Malfoys to Grimmauld Place. However, should their presence there interfere with Harry’s training, we must find another solution. And I must ask that Narcissa makes an Unbreakable Vow to ensure her loyalty—just in case.”

Severus sighed relievedly, giving a quick nod in agreement.

“I assume you’ll be bringing Mrs Malfoy there tonight?”

He nodded again.

“Yes, it’d be best if she left the Manor as soon as possible.”

“Indeed,” Albus hummed. “well, then I shan’t keep you any longer.” He took a small piece of parchment and quickly wrote something on it, before handing it to Severus. It was the full address of Grimmauld Place.

“Reading this will allow them to access the house through the Fidelius charm.”

Severus thanked him and left, making his way to his quarters quickly. Unsurprisingly, he found Draco pacing back and forth in his sitting room, flinching slightly when Severus entered.

“Mother is ready,” Draco said without preamble, looking pleadingly at Severus.

“Good, I shall take it from here, then. Go back to your dormitory, Draco, nothing will happen to you as long as you’re still here at Hogwarts. When term ends, you won’t get on the train but wait for me in Hogsmeade instead. I will pick you up. Now, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of this, but it is of paramount importance that not a single word of your whereabouts, who you’re staying with, or my involvement in any of this gets out. Is that absolutely clear?”

Draco nodded frantically.

“Yes, yes. Crystal clear.”

“Good. Now off with you,” Severus said, waving his hand at the door dismissively. After Draco was gone, Severus summoned his Patronus once more, sending it to Narcissa with the message to meet him at Spinner’s End—his childhood home. Pocketing his wand, he grabbed some Floo powder, threw it into the fire and spun away.

He hadn’t been to Spinner’s End for quite some time. As he stepped into the living room, memories he’d long buried suddenly flashed through his mind. 

  


_It was a cold November evening, when his doorbell rang unexpectedly. He didn’t have many friends, and the ones he did have wouldn’t ring a doorbell, which begged the question of who might disturb him at the rather late hour. Warily, he rose from his chair, setting his book down on the coffee table, to see who the mysterious visitor might be. He pulled the door open only a few inches—and froze._

_“Lily,” Severus breathed, stunned._

_She smiled at him sadly._

_“Hello, Severus. Can I come in? It’s freezing out here.”_

_“Of course,” he said quickly, practically yanking the door open to let her in. She smiled again, walking past him and stopping in the middle of the living room, looking around with a wistful expression on her face._

_“It still looks the same,” she said quietly. He swallowed, not sure what to say. It had been years since she’d been here. They used to steal his mother’s books while his parents were out of the house. Lily had always wanted to meet them, but Severus successfully avoided it._

_“I— Why are you here?” he heard himself ask, silently cursing himself for it. He didn’t really want to know why she’d come, he just didn’t want her to leave again. But she would, of that he was sure._

_“I’m getting married tomorrow.”_

_He couldn’t breathe for a moment. Married. To Potter. Severus wanted to vomit. Or punch something. Preferably Potter._

_“Congratulations, but that doesn’t explain why you’re here,” he said, his voice cool and surprisingly steady._

_She turned to face him and gave him another sad smile._

_“You were my best friend, Severus, for years. More than that even, for a while. I guess I just missed you. I used to share big moments with you, and now you’re not there anymore.”_

_Severus’ gut twisted unpleasantly._

_“I would be there, if you’d let me!” he protested, but she shook her head._

_“We’ve talked about this, Severus,” she said sadly. “You’ve made your choice. I know you never had much of a choice to begin with, but still, I can’t—” She trailed off, looking unbelievably sad. He stared back at her. Straightening a little, she took a step towards him._

_“I’ve come to say goodbye, Severus. Despite everything you’ve done, despite the choices you made, you were my first real friend, my first love. Tomorrow I start a new chapter in my life, a chapter where you and I have no place.” She stood right in front of him now. He didn’t know what to do with himself, he wanted to reach out so badly, wanted to hug her and never let her go._

_“I understand,” he replied softly, hanging his head in defeat._

_She took his hand and the touch sent a jolt through him, as if he’d been hit by a stinging hex._

_“I’ll miss you,” she whispered, her face only inches from his._

_“I— I’ll miss you too, so much,” he stammered. His free hand had somehow come to rest on her waist. She smiled, inching even closer to him. He closed his eyes, struggling to stay still._

_“What are you doing?” he breathed, trying to ignore his racing heart._

_“Making one last memory,” she murmured against his lips. He let out the breath he’d been holding, letting go of his control, and then they were kissing, tightly entangled, as if any space between them would rip them apart completely. Walking backwards, she pulled him towards the stairs and he followed willingly. When they reached his bedroom, he forced himself to pull away, catching her eyes._

_“Are you sure?” he whispered, desperately hoping she wouldn’t say no._

_“Yes,” she breathed back._

_He shut the door behind himself, led her to the bed and gently pushed her down. They looked at each other for a long moment. Then, he kissed her again, and they didn’t speak anymore for a long time._

  


_Lily_. All this talk about her must’ve stirred up his memory. Albus’ words from three nights ago came back to him. Yes, he’d known Lily well. Better than anyone else, certainly better than _James Potter_ , at the very least, and he’d still lost her to him. He frowned as images of that night rose up again inadvertently in his mind. It had been the last time he’d ever seen her, the night before her wedding. True to her word, she’d started her new life the next day, announcing her pregnancy only a few weeks later.

 _But it isn’t Potter’s child,_ a small voice in his mind whispered, _it could be yours._

Severus shook his head vehemently. To even consider that was ridiculous. The odds of a one-time thing resulting in a pregnancy, while she’d undoubtedly slept with Potter countless times, were practically zero.

 _But it isn’t Potter’s child,_ the voice insisted. He frowned. He couldn’t imagine Lily to break her marriage vows, and yet, Harry clearly wasn’t James Potter’s son.

 _It must’ve been someone else, maybe she had more goodbyes to make,_ he thought bitterly.

His ruminations were interrupted by a chime from the Floo, followed by Narcissa Malfoy stepping out of the fireplace. Her posture was full of pride and elegance, as if she’d entered a gala, rather than a dusty living room.

“Severus,” Narcissa said, giving him a polite smile, “I owe you a great debt for this. I am eternally grateful for your help.”

He returned her smile and shook his head.

“I’ve suspected for a while that the Dark Lord might rope Draco into his plans, should Lucius displease him again. I’m only glad that it is not too late to assist you both. However, I must ask you to swear an Unbreakable Vow that enforces your discretion, regarding anything you learn while under our protection, and ensures that you will not betray any of us—a necessary precaution, I’m afraid.”

She inclined her head in agreement, not questioning who “we” exactly was. They completed the Vow swiftly. Severus was eager to leave Spinner’s End, it wasn’t a happy place.

“So, where are you bringing me?” Narcissa inquired. “You hardly planned for me to stay here, where the Dark Lord would undoubtedly find me with ease.”

He shook his head and handed her the parchment Albus had written the address on. She gave him a quizzical look.

“My aunt’s house? How could that possibly be a safe place?”

“It’s under a Fidelius charm,” he replied curtly, offering her his arm. She took it, still eyeing him suspiciously. He apparated right to the doorstep of number 12, Grimmauld Place.

“And who, if I may ask, is the owner of it now? I assumed it would go to Bellatrix after Sirius’ death.”

“Sirius named an heir.” He pushed open the door, leading Narcissa inside. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh? And who would that be?” she asked, just as the sound of steps echoed from the stairs and Potter came into the entrance hall.

“Harry Potter.”


	4. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa arrives at Grimmauld Place and Harry has to resume his Occlumency lessons.

Harry stared at the blonde woman in shock for only a moment, before reflexively drawing his wand and levelling it right at her. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t draw her own wand—she didn’t even flinch as Harry glared at her. She just stood there as if rooted in place, visibly surprised, if not almost shocked. Snape, however, reacted immediately by moving to stand in front of her, sneering at Harry.

“Calm down, Potter!” he snarled angrily, waking up the portrait of Walburga Black, who promptly began to screech her usual vile tirades. 

_“Scum! Half-breeds and blood-traitors! Sullying the house of my fathers with your filth—”_

Harry didn’t move. Snape looked like he was in pain, scrunching up his face in annoyance while shaking his head. At a flick of Snape’s wand, the curtains flew closed, muffling Walburga’s screams.

“I suppose we can skip the introductions then,” he drawled. “Narcissa is a guest of the Order, there’s no reason to point your wand at her.” 

“She’s a Death Eater,” Harry spat.

“No, Potter, Lucius is a Death Eater. Narcissa never showed any interest in joining the Dark Lord. Now that Lucius is gone, she took the opportunity to get away. Dumbledore granted her sanctuary.”

Harry was taken aback by that. Mrs Malfoy was _hiding_ from Voldemort? Had the whole world turned upside down now?

“She swore an Unbreakable Vow not to betray anyone in this house, so you can put your wand away already,” Snape drawled. 

Keeping his eyes fixed on Mrs Malfoy, Harry slowly lowered his wand, ready to raise it again in a heartbeat. He wished Remus were here, but he’d left a short while ago because the full moon was that night—if Harry hadn’t woken up, someone else would’ve been sent to watch over him. Harry was infinitely glad that Remus had given him permission to use magic as much as he wanted, regardless of the fact that he was out of school—the charms warding Grimmauld Place concealed any traceable magic, and within a wizarding household, it was usually the parents’ job to keep their children in line. Walburga was still ranting into the icy silence in the entrance hall. Seemingly having recovered from her shock, Mrs Malfoy held up her palms appeasingly and pointed at the portrait.

“Would you like me to quiet her for you, Mr Potter?”

Harry blinked in surprise. For a moment he considered saying no, but the prospect of waiting until the portrait calmed down by itself wasn’t particularly appealing. He gave her a curt nod, finally lowering his wand fully, and stepped aside to let her pass. Mrs Malfoy hesitated only a second, before she drew back the curtains and shot a charming smile at the hideous woman in the frame.

“Aunt Walburga! It’s been so long!”

The portrait immediately stopped screeching, and gasped instead, eyes bulging so much Harry half expected them to pop out of their sockets any second.

“My, Narcissa! Oh, how wonderful to see you, my favourite niece! Finally someone of proper status has come to look after this house, have you brought your wonderful husband with you?” Walburga’s gushing went on and on and Harry could only watch in amazement.

“I’m afraid not, my dear aunt, Lucius is otherwise occupied. But I thought, maybe you would keep me company? You see, I am merely a guest here, for now, and I would appreciate it ever so much if you could watch over me in my room. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable, too, with me, rather than in this noisy hallway?”

Walburga positively beamed.

“Why, of course, child, how could I refuse? I will watch over you day and night, my sweet Cissy. No filth will dare speak to you!”

Mrs Malfoy plastered another smile on her face and nodded eagerly.

“Thank you so much, aunt Walburga! Now, how can I move your frame?”

“Oh, certainly, certainly,” the portrait said, reaching for the frame from the inside. With a sudden _thunk_ the canvas came off the wall, nearly falling onto Mrs Malfoy, who just managed to catch it. A triumphant smile spread on her thin lips, as she drew her wand and promptly shrunk the portrait to the size of a stamp. Harry thought he heard outraged shrieking as Mrs Malfoy pocketed Walburga’s frame, but it was too quiet to understand. The silence that followed was blessed.

“Thank you,” Harry said, his relief at being rid of the horrendous thing overpowering his distrust of Mrs Malfoy momentarily. She smiled at him. Not like she’d smiled at Walburga, but a wide, warm smile Harry hadn’t even thought her capable of. He found himself smiling back.

“You’re very welcome, Mr Potter, it is but a small thanks for your hospitality.”

“Call me Harry,” he said before he could rethink it. She smiled again, then approached him and extended her hand.

“Very well, Harry, in that case please call me Narcissa. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you under more friendly circumstances.”

He eyed her for a moment, getting an odd sense of deja-vu, before taking her outstretched hand and shaking it once. Her skin felt warmer than he’d expected.

_I’m going mental,_ he thought to himself. This whole day had been entirely too much, and it was only early afternoon. He longed to go back to bed and escape his thoughts for a little while. Talking to Remus had been most informative, but also draining. He was still struggling to wrap his mind around the revelations about his parents, while also trying to avoid thinking about Sirius too much. He barely registered that Narcissa had let go of his hand, eyeing him curiously now. It was Snape who pulled him out of his thoughts again.

“Narcissa, why don’t you pick a bedroom? We can sit down and talk after Potter and I are done,” he said, before turning towards Harry. “We will begin your lessons immediately, follow me.” 

Without sparing him so much as another glance, Snape marched past them. Narcissa wrinkled her nose as she watched Snape disappear into the library, then turned to raise an eyebrow at Harry.

“Which room would you want me to take? It is your house as I understand it, after all.”

Taken aback, Harry shrugged mutely. He didn’t particularly care.

“Whichever you like, only two of them are occupied,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling awkward.

With a nod she picked up her bag from the floor and disappeared up the stairs. He heard a door open and close, then there was silence. Harry stood alone in the entrance hall, trying to sort his thoughts. He’d known that Snape would come with guests, but he had not expected to come face to face with Narcissa Malfoy. And he had most definitely not expected her to be _polite_ and _helpful,_ even _friendly_ towards him. He felt like he’d been thrown into some sort of alternate universe, where absolutely nothing made sense anymore.

“Potter!” Snape called impatiently from the library, and Harry snapped out of it, hurriedly making his way down the hallway. He found Snape sitting on a dark, musty looking couch, eyeing him irritably. Remembering the disaster his previous Occlumency lessons had been, Harry swallowed hard and readied himself for a whole lot of unpleasantness. He sat down quickly opposite Snape, forcing his hands to stay still folded in his lap. He looked at Snape with what he hoped was a neutral expression and waited for the other man to speak.

Snape stayed quiet, however, simply staring at Harry with a scrutinising look as the silence between them stretched uncomfortably. It took Harry extreme amounts of self-control to keep from fidgeting. Snape’s face was unreadable, black eyes glittering as they kept staring each other down.

After what could only have been minutes but felt like half an hour, Snape’s face betrayed the faintest frown, gone so quickly Harry wasn’t sure whether he’d imagined it, and he straightened.

“As you may recall, Dumbledore wants you to learn Occlumency. I suspect you are now aware how important this skill is for you to learn, unless you wish to repeat events such as those at the Department of Mysteries.”

Harry’s gut twisted with guilt and grief. Snape was right, if he’d learnt to occlude properly, none of this would’ve happened. Sirius would be alive.

_I’ll learn,_ he thought stubbornly, forcing his focus back to Snape, who was giving him a rather odd look. Why was he staring at him so much? He shifted uncomfortably, causing a strand of black hair to fall into his eyes. Right, he didn’t look like himself anymore. Or, well, he hadn’t looked like himself before. Again, he wondered whether the whole world had gone insane, whether they’d inadvertently broken the bloody universe at the Department of Mysteries or something.

With a start, he realised that Snape was waiting for him to respond, and he nodded quickly.

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, dropping his eyes to his lap, where he’d twisted his fingers together tightly, fidgeting with the hem of his robes. 

“Good,” Snape said curtly. “I trust you will spend increased efforts on practising then. I want you to clear your mind every evening before going to bed, as you should have before.”

Annoyance bubbled up in Harry’s chest.

“And how am I supposed to do that exactly?” he snapped, before quickly adding “Sir.” Snape narrowed his eyes at him.

“That, Mr Potter, is the objective of today’s lesson as a matter of fact,” he replied with a slight sneer on his face.

Harry tilted his head questioningly. Snape had never explained anything before during their lessons. He’d just thrown Legilimens at him and told him to fight it off, without any actual instruction. Dumbledore must’ve forced him to put in a genuine effort. Harry felt the tiniest glimmer of hope stir in him. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be unpleasant _and_ useless, but just unpleasant.

“Relax, close your eyes,” Snape said, and Harry almost laughed. Relaxing was probably the last thing he’d do in Snape’s presence. But he had to learn this, so he forced himself to lean back into the dusty cushions, breathing deeply.

“Good, now focus on your breath and only your breath. Count it if needed, four in, four out. If your focus wanders, refocus on your breath.”

Harry tried, he really did, but his mind would simply not quiet down. Luckily, he somehow managed to suppress any thoughts of Sirius or his father—no, not his father, _James_ —so his mind provided him with seemingly pure randomness instead. Every noise alerted him, every movement in the air made him twitch in anticipation of _something_ , colours kept dancing before his closed eyelids, and his thoughts were jumping around wildly. 

_Breathe in, breathe out._ Wood creaking, muffled steps from above; Narcissa. How odd. 

_Breathe in, breathe out._ Ron and Hermione were still at Hogwarts. What were they going to say about his new appearance? 

_Breathe in, breathe out._ The DA. Would they continue the DA next year? What could he still teach them? 

_Breathe in, breathe out._ Whatever had happened to Umbridge? Had she gotten away from the centaurs? Would they find her? 

_Breathe in, breathe out._ Maybe he could redecorate his room upstairs, make it feel like it was actually his. He owned a house now. He had a home.

_Breathe—_ A real home. Not like Privet Drive.

_Brea—_ Uncle Vernon towering above him, face flushed an angry red, raising his belt—

Harry flinched violently and squeezed his eyes shut, his whole body tense. His breath came shallow and his lungs were craving more air. He needed something, anything to hold on to. Anything to distract him. _Anything!_

Cedric’s face flashed before his eyes, making his chest feel even tighter. _Anything but that,_ he thought desperately, but his mind didn’t obey him. 

Sirius, fighting next to him, laughing, then suddenly falling.

_Enough!_

He felt a soft wave of magic flow through him and suddenly there was complete silence. It felt unbelievably odd, as if he was floating, free of any thought or emotion.

It ended as suddenly as it had begun, and the creaking and crackling of Grimmauld Place filled his ears again, thoughts streaming back into his mind. He still felt the tension lingering in his body, but he could breathe again.

_Refocus on your breath,_ he reminded himself.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

_Breathe in, breathe out._

_Breathe in, breathe out._ He wondered when Remus would be back. How would he react to Narcissa?

_Breathe in, breathe out._ Term was only one more week, maybe Ron and Hermione could visit him on their way home. He longed to talk to them about—

_Breathe in, breathe out._

_Breathe in, breathe out._ Oh god, the prophecy.

_Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out._ The fucking prophecy. Voldemort. The atrium flickered before his inner eye, glass shards on the floor, spells ricocheting off the walls.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

_Breathe in, breathe out._

“That’s enough,” Snape said quietly and Harry’s eyes flew open immediately. He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to discreetly stretch the tension out of his shoulders. Snape watched him silently, looking oddly thoughtful. It made Harry feel decidedly awkward. He was used to Snape being snarky and downright nasty to him, this new, scrutinising attitude made him feel uneasy.

“Describe it to me.” Snape’s tone made clear that there would be no argument about this. Harry sighed, not feeling particularly inclined to bare all his thoughts to Snape.

“I tried to stay focused on my breath, as you told me to, sir,” he said, hoping that maybe Snape would be satisfied with a partial truth. The man just kept piercing him with black glittering eyes, and Harry resigned.

“I got distracted a lot. Noises in the house, wind, flimmers in front of my eyes, just sensory stuff. And my thoughts kept drifting off, but I tried to refocus on breathing again when I noticed.” He trailed off, not wanting to go into details about where his mind went. Snape narrowed his eyes and Harry’s palms began to sweat. He really didn’t want to talk about this now.

“There was a moment in which you used magic, describe that part to me,” Snape commanded. Relief washed over Harry.

“It felt really weird, I can’t really describe it,” he began, struggling to find adequate words, but Snape interrupted him. “What did you think of or feel right before?”

Harry swallowed and shook his head.

“Tell me, Potter, or would you rather I go look for the information myself?” Snape sneered at him then, and weirdly it made him feel better. This was familiar, this he could deal with. He welcomed the anger heating up his gut, drew energy from it, even though it felt somewhat subdued, almost tame, compared to the uncontrollable, white hot rage he was used to.

“I thought of Sirius,” he spat. “Of how he died.”

“And then?” Snape prodded.

“I— I don’t know, I just wanted it to stop, to stop thinking about it, to stop remembering it. I— It felt like I shouted, but inside my head. And then it was suddenly quiet, like _completely_ quiet. No noise, no wind, no colours, no thoughts, no emotions.” He looked up at Snape, suddenly feeling awkward. “But it was over after barely more than a second, and it all came back.”

Snape regarded him for a moment, then nodded.

“You successfully occluded for a moment, effectively shutting yourself out of your own mind. The goal is for you to be able to achieve the same barrier, without shutting down your sensory perception.” He gave Harry an appraising look. “It appears this method works for you. Continue this exercise every evening.” In a swift motion, Snape stood up from the couch and walked towards the door. 

“You’re not going to use Legilimency on me and have me try to block you?” Harry blurted out, taken aback by the apparent end of their lesson. Snape gave him a cold glare.

“Your mind is still recovering from the Dark Lord’s possession of you. It would be utterly pointless to have you attempt that now,” he drawled.

“Oh, right.” Harry couldn’t help but think that it had been pointless to attempt it without giving him any instructions, too, but he knew better than to say anything. He rose from his seat as well, following Snape into the hallway. He watched as the man headed up the stairs, undoubtedly to check in on Narcissa. She was going to live here, with him and Remus, he realised. Perhaps it would be wise to get to know the woman, if they were going to spend all summer living together. 

Just as Harry had made up his mind to invite Narcissa to come and have tea with him in the kitchen, Snape came back down the stairs with Narcissa in tow. Harry opened his mouth, but Narcissa spoke first.

“Harry, would you join us for tea? I would like to get properly acquainted with my host.” Even as she spoke, she moved towards the dining room with a graceful confidence that made it seem like Harry was a guest at her house, rather than the other way around.

“Not in there,” he said hastily, just as she wanted to pull open the door. “It’s not really…habitable yet.”

She frowned, but didn’t question him. Instead she gestured for him to lead the way, and he quickly went for the stairs that lead into the basement kitchen.

“We’ve tried to clean the house last summer as well as we could,” Harry said, just so there wouldn’t be this tense silence hanging over them, “but it was quite a challenge. Sirius is— _was_ slowly refurbishing it all. That room there never got past the cleaning out stage.”

Instead of sitting down, Harry busied himself with putting the kettle on, as Narcissa and Snape settled at the table.

“The upper rooms are wonderful. The room I’ve chosen now is the one I used to sleep in when I used to come visit as a girl. I must say it looks much better now,” Narcissa replied, probably going along with this pointless conversation for Harry’s sake, which he was grateful for. They kept up the idle chatter about the house while Harry finished preparing tea for the three of them, before finally sitting down at the head of the table, Narcissa to his left, Snape to his right. It felt like an odd position to take, but he wanted to sit neither directly next to Narcissa, nor directly next to Snape. Once more, he wished Remus was home so he’d have someone on his side—whatever that side was.

After a short silence, Narcissa drew a deep breath and levelled her gaze at Harry.

“So,” she said, smiling slightly, “I’m guessing you have more than just a couple questions. And, I must be honest, so do I, but those can wait for now. Please, Harry, ask whatever you wish to know.”

Harry didn’t know where to start.

“Why did you take the portrait down for me?” It was the first thing he could think of, but it was as good as any to start with he supposed.

“For one, as a peace offer and hopefully a token of gratitude for your hospitality. You would be doing me an immeasurable favour by allowing me to stay here. I know it wasn’t your choice to invite me here, that much I can deduce from your reaction. Since it _is_ your house you could therefore overrule anyone’s wishes and send me away.”

Snape opened his mouth to speak, but Narcissa lifted her hand to cut him off.

“No, Severus. It is only proper to ask the head of the house for permission first. While I am eternally grateful for your efforts to get me out of the Manor, I can not accept staying here if Harry does not want me in his home.” She turned back to Harry, a small smirk creeping on her lips. “That is one reason why I took the portrait down. The other reason is simple: Aunt Walburga was a nasty woman and it was time that she was dealt with for good.” 

Harry laughed.

“You have a point there,” he agreed, grinning. He noted with surprise, that he found himself liking Narcissa. She was nothing like the cold, condescending woman he’d seen at the Quidditch World-Cup. He sobered again quickly. He had more questions to ask before he could allow himself to make any assumptions about her character. More important questions than why she’d dealt with a portrait. She waited patiently, as he sorted his thoughts, trying to decide what to ask first.

“You’re not a Death Eater.” It wasn’t a question, but he had to be sure. She shook her head, pushed back the sleeves of her robe and showed him both her forearms. No Dark Mark. Harry relaxed a little.

“You don’t agree with Voldemort’s blood-supremacist ideas.” She shook her head again.

“No, I do not. While I did grow up in a pure-blood household, I made certain acquaintances during my school years that thoroughly dismantled any blood-supremacist ideologies I’d picked up at home.”

“Why did you marry a Death Eater then?”

“It was an arranged marriage. Even though I did not support Lucius’ allegiance to the Dark Lord, my parents insisted that I was to marry him or be shunned from the family. Both my father and Lucius assured me that I would not have to join the Dark Lord’s ranks myself, so I agreed eventually.”

“You didn’t love him.”

“No, neither did he love me. Our marriage was— _is_ —a facade. We both married each other to please our parents, uphold certain tradition and expectations.”

“Are your parents still alive?”

She shook her head.

“Why didn’t you leave him earlier then? Why now?”

She smiled sadly.

“Because of Draco, of course. Even though Lucius never had any interest to be with me—or any woman, if you understand what I’m saying—he needed to produce an heir. Right after our wedding Lucius consummated our marriage once, magically ensuring that I would give him a male heir. If I had left him, he’d have kept Draco from me, and I could never have abandoned my son.”

“You could’ve taken Draco with you,” Harry interjected.

“I am bound to the Malfoy family by marriage, Draco is bound to them by blood. The head of the Malfoy family, currently that would be Lucius, wears the family signum ring—it is imbued with blood-magic that can find any member of the family, wherever they are.”

Harry tensed instantly, but Narcissa quickly put up her hands trying to appease him.

“He doesn’t have the ring anymore. The aurors took it when they arrested him. As I am his wife, his possessions were given to me when he was sent to Azkaban. The ring is with me, he has no chance of finding us.”

Harry relaxed only marginally. _Us,_ he thought. That meant—

“What about Draco? Where will he go?” He was already dreading her answer. For the first time, Narcissa looked nervous.

“I know you and my son don’t necessarily see eye to eye.” Harry snorted. That was putting it mildly. Narcissa went on undeterred.

“I acknowledge that I spoiled him to compensate for Lucius’ shortcomings as a father, which did him no favours in regards to his behaviour when he was younger. But Draco is good at his core. He may still have some growing up to do, but he is not like Lucius. He is no killer.” She looked at him pleadingly, her eyes full of desperation. 

“The Dark Lord is displeased because Lucius let himself be captured. He plans to force Draco to take the Mark to punish Lucius. I always intended to leave if Lucius was ever out of the picture for some reason, but I never thought I’d have to hide so hastily.” She reached across the table and took Harry’s hand in hers. “Please, Harry, if Draco is forced to take the Dark Mark he is as good as dead. Please, allow us to stay, I beg you.”

Harry’s mind was racing in circles. Malfoy was supposed to become a Death Eater. His mother clearly did not want that to happen, but what about him? Did _he_ agree with Voldemort’s ideas? It had certainly sounded like it in the past, and yet, Harry could barely justify refusing him protection with things he’d said when he was twelve. Although, Malfoy had been as unpleasant as ever not even a week ago, holding Harry and his friends in Umbridge’s office. But being a dick wasn’t the same as wanting to be a Death Eater. Zacharias Smith was a major prick and as far from a Death Eater as it went. If Malfoy was truly trying to avoid being forced into serving the Dark Lord, Harry would be cruel to refuse him because of a silly schoolboy rivalry. 

Narcissa squeezed his hand, bringing his attention back to the room. She still looked at him with deeply desperate eyes. They were the exact same colour as Sirius’ eyes, he realised. The stark reminder of her relation to his godfather swayed him.

“Alright,” he said, squeezing her hand in return before withdrawing it. “You and Mal— I mean Draco can stay. But if M— Draco behaves like a prick, I’ll hex him without hesitation.”

Snape snorted at that, earning a raised eyebrow from Harry. Narcissa was visibly relieved and began thanking Harry repeatedly, causing him to blush a little.

“I’ll see that Draco behaves,” she assured him. Harry smothered a grin at the image of Malfoy being berated by his mother for bothering him.

Snape, who had been unusually quiet this entire time, suddenly stood.

“Well, since you seem unlikely to attack each other the moment I leave you alone, I shall be returning to Hogwarts now,” he announced briskly. “Don’t forget to do your exercise this evening, Potter, I’ll be back tomorrow for another lesson. Narcissa.” 

He inclined his head towards her, then promptly spun around and left, his robes billowing behind him. Harry was left sitting alone with Narcissa, an awkward silence settling over them. It made him feel antsy and he began to fiddle with the lid of the tea can to keep his hands occupied.

“Well,” Narcissa said, clapping her hands together, “I suppose I’ll go and get settled properly then.” Harry gave a relieved nod as she stood up and cleared away the cups.

“Er— If you need anything,” he began, but she shook her head, smiling.

“Please do not feel obliged to interrupt your daily routine because of me. I am quite capable of looking after myself, in fact, should _you_ need anything from _me,_ do not hesitate to ask. It is the least I can do to thank you.”

Harry quickly shook his head. He didn’t need Narcissa Malfoy to mother him. She just smiled at him as she flicked her wand at the cups, spelling them to self-clean.

“I’ll be seeing you for dinner then?” she asked as she walked towards the door.

“Uh, sure, I guess,” he replied, not having thought about dinner at all until now. “I, uh, I only just woke up today, we don’t really have a routine yet.”

She tilted her head looking like she wanted to ask a question, but she didn’t.

“In that case, how about I prepare dinner for us today?”

“Uhm, if you feel like it, sure, but I don’t mind taking care of it myself.”

“It would be my pleasure, Harry.”

With that she left, her footsteps echoing from the staircase. Harry listened as the steps grew fainter and fainter, until he sat in silence at the kitchen table, alone.

Narcissa Malfoy was going to prepare dinner for him.

_This day,_ he decided, _is the weirdest day in history._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, updates! Narcissa sure is quite a woman, isn't she?  
> Hope you enjoyed it :)  
> \- Z.


	5. Firewhisky and Considerations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus and Minerva have a drink.

Severus apparated to Spinner’s End to floo directly back to Hogwarts from there. He needed a drink, desperately. He briefly considered to go up to the staff lounge, but decided against it. He had to think.

After pouring himself a glass of firewhisky, he settled into the large armchair in his living room. Staring into the flames in the fireplace, he replayed the events of the day in his mind. It had gone remarkably well, much better than he had anticipated. Narcissa had convinced Potter to let her and Draco stay with ease, nobody had been hexed, and the wolf hadn’t been there at all. Nevertheless, Severus felt decidedly unsettled by his visit to Grimmauld Place, the main reason for that being Potter—of course. It was always Potter, wasn‘t it?

Severus downed his firewhisky in one and refilled the tumbler. 

He had seen the boy two days ago, he shouldn’t have been surprised by how different he looked. But it wasn’t just looks. Where Potter had previously been a carbon copy of his father—no, of James Potter—down to the smallest gestures, his entire demeanour had suddenly changed. He still fidgeted, but he did it in a far less disruptive manner now, and he clearly tried to control it. His facial expressions, which had been a mirror image of James’ until now, were much more subtle than before, even though he still couldn’t hide all his emotions. The unguarded arrogance Severus associated with Potter’s face was all but gone. In its place, Severus had observed a cautious sort of confidence when Potter had dealt with Narcissa, and a surprisingly intelligent, controlled attitude during their Occlumency lesson. It was like Potter was an entirely different person.

 _How deep did you root these charms, Lily,_ he wondered to himself. Why had she thought it necessary to make everyone believe that James Potter was Harry Potter’s father? Was she simply ashamed of her infidelity? Had it been to prevent James from finding out? Was there another, deeper reason behind this charade?

He took another swig of firewhisky as he continued to stare into the flames. The worst part by far was that he’d found himself intrigued by this new version of Potter. His behaviour hinted at elaborate thought going on behind those green eyes that looked so much like Lily’s. And then there was the magic. Potter had always been powerful, everyone knew that. For Merlin’s sake, the boy had been able to produce a corporeal Patronus when he was thirteen! Now, however, the word powerful seemed like an understatement—magic was practically thrumming around him, coming off him in waves, as if his skinny body simply couldn’t contain it all; and yet it hadn’t felt hazardous to Severus at all. No, it had felt…natural and somehow delicate. Whatever charm had altered Potter’s magical signature had clearly also suppressed quite a bit of his potential. 

A knock on his door yanked Severus back into the present. He frowned. Who would seek him out in his private quarters in the middle of the after— evening? The clock at the wall showed that it was already well past seven. He’d been sitting here, brooding, for literal hours. With a wave of his wand he opened the door, revealing Minerva McGonagall.

“Minerva, what brings you here?” he asked, hoping that his Slytherins hadn’t caused any trouble for him to deal with.

“It’s Friday evening, you haven’t been to dinner and you did not turn up in the staff lounge. I was getting concerned.”

Minerva and Severus had a long-standing tradition of meeting every Friday in the staff lounge to have a glass of firewhisky and complain about the students, workload, and occasionally even other staff members or personal matters. Over the years, they’d grown quite close, and Severus appreciated the insight his former professor could provide. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so wrong to talk to Minerva about his observations.

“My apologies,” he said, gesturing towards the other armchair. “I did not feel like exposing myself to the tumult of the castle right before the holidays, but if you’d like to join me here I can pour you a glass.”

She sat down with a smile and thanked him as he handed her a tumbler of firewhisky.

“Any particular reason why you’ve secluded yourself, Severus?”

She knew him too well. He sighed again, trying to figure out how to begin.

“He’s different,” he said, counting on Minerva to know who he was talking about. “Much more different than I anticipated. It’s disconcerting.”

“You’ve seen him then?” she asked, her forehead creasing a little.

“Today. Remus contacted me that he woke up this morning. Since Dumbledore insisted that his Occlumency lessons are to resume as soon as possible, I visited Grimmauld Place shortly after lunch, bringing—” 

He hesitated. Minerva was part of the Order, but he was unsure whether he should tell her about Narcissa or not. He wasn’t certain whether Albus would want the Malfoy’s situation to become common knowledge. Minerva smiled knowingly.

“Albus mentioned that Grimmauld Place has gained additional inhabitants, I suspect this is when I learn who those are.”

“Narcissa Malfoy,” Severus replied, watching her reaction closely. Minerva’s face betrayed nothing but mild surprise.

“I suppose it makes sense for her to use the opportunity that her husband’s arrest has granted her. I’m assuming she’ll take Mr Malfoy with her once the term ends?”

Severus nodded. Then Minerva frowned.

“How did Potter take it?”

He sighed again.

“That’s exactly it: He took it way too well. Sure, his first reaction was to point his wand at her, but given their history that isn’t entirely unreasonable. But when I explained why she was here, he— He calmed down way too quickly. He seemed to read the situation and its implications too fast, controlled his emotions almost immediately and acted rationally—nothing like the Potter we’ve known so far.”

Minerva looked like she wanted to say something, but Severus ploughed on, wanting to impress on her just how significant the change was.

“Narcissa then asked to deal with Walburga’s portrait _and he let her._ He simply let her pass into the house and watched her talk the portrait off the wall. He even thanked her and offered her first name basis—which she reciprocated, as if _his_ behaviour wasn’t odd enough. Then, during our Occlumency lesson, he actually listened and managed to achieve a meditative state. And his magic, Minerva, you have no idea. It’s pulsing all around him, I’ve never felt anything like it before. After the lesson Narcissa pleaded with him to let her stay, saying she could not accept an invitation from anyone except the rightful head of the house. He agreed. _He agreed,_ Minerva, even after knowing that it meant that Draco would also move into Grimmauld Place.”

Severus knew that his voice had turned a little high-pitched and that he was ranting, but he couldn’t help his agitation. Minerva just watched him patiently.

“Severus, I know you’ve never liked the boy, but are you sure that this isn’t just your biases coming off because he no longer looks like James? Potter has always been generous, I would have been surprised if he’d turned Narcissa away. And while I can not speak for his skills in Occlumency, he’s never been untalented or unintelligent. He may have been impulsive, but never cruel—he wouldn’t have attacked Narcissa unless she attacked him.”

Severus shook his head. She didn’t understand. The boy was _different_. 

“These charms concealed more than his face and his magical signature. He acts different. He moves different. I _know_ he does, because he used to be just like James, mannerisms and all, and now he’s entirely different. I swear to you, Minerva, if you saw it for yourself you’d notice too.”

Minerva nodded appeasingly and Severus leaned back with a dejected sigh. She’d see soon enough.

“Alright, say you’re right and the boy really is different. Why does it unsettle you so much?” Minerva asked neutrally. 

The question threw Severus somewhat. Why _did_ it unsettle him so much? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was simply that he was so used to hating everything about the boy that the sudden lack of unpleasant behaviour had startled him. He frowned again. That couldn’t be all there was to it.

“Could it be,” Minerva said gently, “that this has something to do with Lily?”

He looked up at her in confusion.

“Why would it have anything to do with Lily?” he asked.

“You’re right, Potter used to be a mirror image of James. But now that those charms are gone, he’s bound to display more of Lily’s characteristics, isn’t he? Lily’s and whoever his real father is. Could it be that you saw Lily in him for the first time, and now are struggling to match that to your previous opinion of him?”

Severus sat back, stunned. It was a possibility. Lily had been a powerful witch, quick-witted, kind, generous and considerate.

“You still miss her, I know you do. I remember how close you two used to be, before you’ve had that falling out. Seeing Potter resemble her so much more all of a sudden is bound to bring up old memories.” 

Minerva’s tone was gentle, but it unnerved Severus all the same. He didn’t want to think about Lily. She was gone, no good came from dragging up these memories.

“Furthermore,” she continued, her voice gaining a careful undertone now, “I couldn’t help but see some…resemblance to someone else in his new face, a resemblance I would have thought you’d notice as well.”

He frowned at her. 

“Are you suggesting you have an idea who the father might be?” he asked.

She nodded, watching him carefully. He felt uneasy. Did he even want to know?

“Well, who do you think he resembles then?” he quipped, trying to keep his tone light.

“You really don’t know?”

“How would I know? I thought he looks like Black when I first saw him, but Remus insists that that’s impossible. I don’t know who else Lily was close to around that time, we weren’t friends anymore.”

“When was the last time you saw her?” Minerva asked, making him scowl.

“I don’t see why that is of any relevance,” he snapped, trying not to think about that night.

Minerva rolled her eyes and set down her glass.

“Don’t be stubborn, Severus,” she admonished. “Just answer the question and I’ll tell you all my theories.”

He eyed her suspiciously, but eventually gave in. There was no point in trying to deny Minerva McGonagall.

“The day before her wedding. She came to say goodbye, after that I never saw her again. Still, we weren’t _close_ at that time, I have no idea who she was friends with or who she’d have slept with.”

Minerva’s expression was one of sheer triumph and Severus wondered why he ever told her anything.

“Did you know that Harry was supposedly conceived on their wedding night?” she asked, her eyes glinting with satisfaction.

“Is that so?” he drawled, growing more irritated by the second. Minerva nodded affirmatively, a smile spreading on her face. “Well, that’s wonderful, except that it’s clearly not true, since James isn’t Potter’s father.”

“Exactly,” Minerva agreed, beaming at him.

“What is your _point_ , Minerva?” he asked irritably.

“My point, Severus, is that Harry looks like _you_ when you were his age. Well, parts of him at least, a lot of it is Lily, too. But his hair, his cheekbones, his jaw—it’s rather uncanny. And you have just confirmed that you saw Lily one last time, right around the time she must have gotten pregnant.”

He opened his mouth to protest her practically unveiled assumption, but Minerva silenced him with a wave of her hand.

“Oh please, we both know you and Lily used to be involved with each other. You might have thought you were discreet, but half the staff knew. I also remember how heartbroken you both were when you separated—I’m not in the least surprised that she couldn’t stay away from you for good. Tell me, was it just one time or did you see each other regularly?”

Severus stared at her in disbelief. His relationship with Lily had been his most guarded secret, both during his time at Hogwarts, as well as after they’d graduated and he’d joined the Dark Lord. In his shock, he answered before he could think twice about it, forgetting about his outrage at Minerva’s blatant assumption that they’d slept with each other the moment they met again.

“Just once. I hadn’t seen her for years.”

“Impressive,” Minerva mused, half a smile on her lips. Severus snapped back out of his shock.

“You don’t seriously believe that I’m Potter’s father?! That’s utterly ridiculous!” he cried, but Minerva just smiled and shrugged. He shook his head indignantly, downed his glass of firewhisky and refilled it promptly.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath.

“It’s a possibility,” Minerva insisted, emptying her glass as well before standing up. He didn’t answer when she bid him goodbye and only looked up once he heard the door fall shut behind her. 

Harry Potter was supposed to be _his_ son. Ridiculous. And yet there was still the little voice in the back of his head, insisting much like Minerva that it was a possibility, that it wouldn’t even be too surprising. 

_Ridiculous_ , he told himself, forcing himself out of the armchair and towards his bedroom. This wretched day could not end soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sneaky steering of that conversation there, Minerva, positively Slytherin of you.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! :)  
> \- Z.


	6. Routines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry settles into somewhat of a routine at Grimmauld Place, only to have it disrupted by the arrival of Draco Malfoy.

When Harry awoke in his new room at Grimmauld Place for the second time, the sun was already standing high in the sky. He blinked dazedly against the light, groping for his glasses. When he finally found them, he frowned.

_What the—_ He took them off again, looked around, put them back on. 

“What the hell?” he murmured, confused. Taking the glasses off again, there was no doubt about it. He decidedly saw better without them. Bemused, he set them aside and got out of bed. How odd.

He turned towards his trunk, pulling out fresh clothes, before quickly getting showered and brushing his teeth. His stomach was rumbling. Time for breakfast, no matter what hour it actually was.

As he bounded down the stairs, he once more revelled in the fact that he didn’t have to be careful to be quiet anymore, now that Walburga’s portrait was gone. Narcissa had done him a real favour here.

He thought back to their dinner the previous day. It had been a rather tense atmosphere, especially without Remus. They’d avoided to talk about anything to do with the war, Voldemort, or really anything that could’ve ended in an awkward conversation—which didn’t leave a lot to work with. Harry knew she probably had questions about his changed appearance, but he was glad that she’d apparently decided to keep quiet about them for now. He wasn’t sure how he’d explain without breaking down.

The kitchen smelled delicious. Narcissa stood in front of the stove, waving her wand at the table, where three sets of dishes were currently arranging themselves.

“Good morning,” she greeted him. “Breakfast is nearly ready.”

He stared at her in astonishment for a moment. How had she timed that so well? She couldn’t possibly have known when he’d wake up. She smirked at him.

“I heard your shower and figured you’d be hungry. It’s almost eleven already. Remus should be down shortly, he returned and went to rest a couple hours ago. I’ve sent your house-elf to fetch him.”

“Kreacher?” he asked in surprise. Narcissa nodded.

“Yes, he was most helpful in finding all the necessary things in the pantry.”

Harry laughed at that. He’d never heard anyone describe Kreacher as helpful. Narcissa tilted her head questioningly.

“Sorry, it’s just that Kreacher doesn’t really like me. Or anyone. It seems you’re an exception, probably because you’re all pure-blooded and a Black and all that.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t comment. Instead, she turned her attention back to the stove, where a pile of pancakes waited under a stasis charm, while another one sizzled in a pan. Just as she levitated it onto the pile, Remus entered. He looked extremely tired, no doubt the aftereffects of the full moon.

“Morning, Harry, did you sleep well?” he asked.

“Decent enough. How are you?”

“Where are your glasses?” 

_Alright then, no talking about the full moon._

“I see better without them for some reason.”

Remus gave him a surprised look, then his expression turned thoughtful.

“Your eyesight must’ve been affected by Lily’s charms,” he mused and Harry’s breath caught. He glanced at Narcissa, who was eyeing them curiously. Remus must’ve caught Harry’s look, for he promptly changed the subject.

“The _Prophet_ has done a full 180 since your visit to the Ministry,” he said, pulling the newspaper out of his pocket. “They’re calling you the Chosen One, saying that you’re a hero destined to kill You-Know-Who.”

Harry snorted. Of course the press would spin a ridiculous story like that. Then he sobered suddenly. It was a ridiculous story, except that this time they weren’t entirely wrong. The prophecy _did_ say he was destined to kill Voldemort. A familiar sensation of dread was gripping him, as memories from the Ministry threatened to overwhelm him.

He felt a hand on his and looked up at Remus.

“You’re going to be alright, Harry,” he said reassuringly. “You’re not alone in this.”

Harry gave a hollow laugh. He wished he could believe that. Not wanting to think about the prophecy anymore, he began to devour the pancakes Narcissa had served. For a while, neither of them spoke.

“This was delicious, thank you,” Harry eventually said, as he finished the last bit of food on his plate. Narcissa smiled.

“Thank you, I’m glad they turned out well. I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of practice in the kitchen, since the house-elves usually took care of meals at the Manor.”

Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn’t even considered that the Malfoy family might have more than one house-elf when he’d freed Dobby.

“What happens to them now?” he asked, frowning at the thought of innocent creatures being abandoned.

“They’re still at the Manor,” she replied. “Why?”

“So they’re just alone now?”

“Yes, but they can take care of themselves. Although I could theoretically summon them here I suppose, if you should wish so.”

Harry considered that for a moment. He wasn’t particularly fond of house-elves, and having Kreacher here was only necessary because he knew too much about the Order to be freed. Bringing Narcissa’s elves to Grimmauld Place would be far too risky. Still, he couldn’t very well ask Narcissa to free all her house-elves just so they weren’t stuck at Malfoy Manor by themselves.

“Too risky, I’m afraid. That’s why Kreacher is still here, too.”

Narcissa inclined her head, before standing up and clearing the table. Remus gave him an approving smile. Seemed like he’d given the right answer.

For the next few hours, Harry busied himself with unpacking his trunk and writing letters to Ron and Hermione. He couldn’t tell them where he was, since he wasn’t the Secret Keeper for the Fidelius charm, but he assured them that he was safe, before launching into an explanation of what he had learned since waking up. He avoided mentioning Narcissa, however, unsure of how his friends would take such a revelation. They’d probably worry enough already upon learning the whole James-is-not-my-father business.

After sending Hedwig on her way, he decided to explore the house. The fourth floor turned out to be by far the neatest, with Remus residing in Sirius’ old room that had been entirely refurbished. The empty bedroom next to it was just as clean and organised, as if waiting for its inhabitant to arrive any minute. The third floor was entirely taken up by his own rooms and one more smaller bedroom, as well as another small bathroom. There wasn’t much to see here, although Harry enjoyed the countless books in his bedroom, repeatedly picking up several and leafing through them, undecided which he should read. He eventually decided to get back to those books once he’d explored the rest of the house. The second floor had clearly not been renovated yet, and he didn’t see much merit in digging through the chaos. Narcissa had taken the bedroom on the first floor, causing him to avoid that level entirely for now. On the ground floor, the dining room had been abandoned mid-renovation, with wallpapers scattered across the floor and dusty furniture piled up in a corner. The library was just as he’d left it the day before: Old, musty couches and dark bookshelves. He wondered how many books were in the house if you counted in all the rooms.

His musings were interrupted by a tingling sensation going through his entire body, similar to someone shooting a spell against his shield charms. Alarmed, he hurried into the hallway, his hand on his wand, and found himself face to face with Snape.

“Potter,” the man drawled. 

He forced himself to relax. Nobody was attacking him. Snape beckoned him to go back into the library, apparently eager to get it over with their lesson for the day. His mind still trying to figure out what had caused the tingling sensation he’d felt, he led Snape to the same two seats they had taken the previous day and sat down.

Their lesson went much the same as it had then, and Harry felt quite exhausted when Snape finally told him to stop. Relieved he fled into his room and buried himself in one of the books he’d found earlier. It was an interesting read, and he found himself taking notes on a spare parchment he fished out of his trunk. 

Hours later, he grudgingly interrupted his reading when Narcissa announced that dinner was about to be served. Snape had left again long ago. For a moment, Harry wondered whether Snape had even spoken to Narcissa, or if he just left her to her own devices now that he’d brought her here. The atmosphere at the table wasn’t as tense as it had been the day before, but it was still a far cry from relaxed.

“Found anything interesting while exploring?” Remus asked casually, as they ate their meal.

“Not really, just a couple of books that sound fascinating,” Harry replied. “Sirius was quite thorough when cleaning the place out.”

Remus laughed.

“Yeah he tried, but there are places that are completely untouched as of yet. If you ever want to go into the attic, let me know before you walk in there by yourself. I have no idea what’s up there, but I’d rather not take any risks by letting you go alone.”

Harry nodded agreeably, happy that Remus hadn’t simply declared it off limits. Narcissa chimed in, saying she’d be happy to help clearing out more of the rooms that still needed some work done. Furthermore, despite Harry repeatedly insisting that he could cook too, Narcissa also insisted on preparing lunch and dinner for them, saying that she had nothing better to do anyway. Overall, she wasn’t bad company, so long as he wasn’t alone with her.

A similar pattern repeated itself over the following few days, and Harry quickly settled into his new routine, quite happy to at least not be spending his summer doing chores and being locked up for once. The letter from Hermione, besides her understandably shocked reaction at the news about James, informed him of the mountain of homework he’d have to complete over the summer, but he found himself surprisingly interested in most of it. It was even fun to research some complicated antidote for a potion’s essay, although he’d never have admitted that in front of Snape.

Snape’s behaviour continued to be rather odd. Harry assumed it had something to do with him no longer looking like James Potter, and decided to simply be grateful for the lack of spite he received during their daily Occlumency lessons. If anything, his progress with clearing his mind helped with his nightmares—those about Voldemort, as well as those about the Dursleys—so he decided to simply be thankful for the lessons. Narcissa meanwhile proved to be a rather pleasant housemate. She kept a respectful distance to Harry at almost all times, which he greatly appreciated. Even Remus left him mostly alone, and Harry was content to spend his time working, reading and continuously further exploring the house, finding several hidden rooms, their doors concealed behind bookshelves, portraits or fireplaces, including an even _bigger_ library right behind the Black family tapestry, though he barely managed a look at it before Narcissa interrupted by calling him down for lunch. He didn’t tell Remus about any of those rooms, not because he didn’t trust him, but because he felt strangely protective of the secrets he’d uncovered in this— _his_ —house.

By the end of the first week he was just starting to feel truly comfortable, when his fragile routine was violently disrupted by the arrival of Draco Malfoy. Despite knowing full well that term was ending and that Malfoy was about to join his mother at Grimmauld Place, Harry didn’t feel at all prepared to face his school bully in the first place he’d ever felt remotely at home that wasn’t Hogwarts.

He was pacing up and down the kitchen restlessly, feeling Remus’ eyes on him. Narcissa had left Grimmauld Place half an hour ago to pick up her son directly from Hogsmeade, and they were bound to return any minute. The now familiar tingling sensation of someone entering the house’s wards, paired with the sound of the front door opening made Harry jump slightly. He didn’t want to go upstairs, not at all. A nudge from Remus finally spurred him into action, and he ascended the stairs warily. Soft voices echoed from the entrance hall.

“—such a house. I thought this was a Black estate,” Malfoy said.

“It is, Potter inherited it from his godfather.” Why on earth was Snape here with them?

“Not a word about Sirius, do you hear me? Harry is incredibly generous to let us stay here, you will not taunt him with his grief,” Narcissa lectured, and Harry had to suppress a smile. Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad with her here to control her brat child. Taking one last deep breath, he rounded the corner and stepped into the entrance hall, Remus on his heels.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Malfoy hadn’t changed one bit—of course he hadn’t, Harry had seen him barely over a week ago. Admittedly, he looked rather handsome in his grey robes. They matched his eyes. Harry quickly pushed the thought away, reminding himself that Malfoy had practically delivered him and his friends to Umbridge the last time they’d been in the same room. He opened his mouth to say something, but Malfoy was faster.

“What the fuck happened to your face, Potter?!”

“Draco!” Narcissa cried, shooting Harry an apologetic look. Right, there was that. Somehow, Harry had assumed Narcissa would’ve told Malfoy about that, but he had evidently been wrong.

“What? Look at him!” Malfoy gestured at him wildly.

“I’m aware that he’s changed quite drastically, but that doesn’t mean we can simply demand to know why. Remember your manners, Draco,” Narcissa admonished. Harry stared at her, confused. Hadn’t Snape told her? Did she really not know why he’d changed?

“Perhaps we should relocate this conversation to the kitchen,” Remus suggested. Harry suppressed a groan and nodded. Better to get it over with.

As they settled around the kitchen table, Harry watched the Malfoys’ faces carefully. While Narcissa seemed mostly apologetic, with barely a hint of curiosity in her eyes, Malfoy—he should probably start calling him Draco, Harry realised—sported a look of stubborn righteousness. He glanced at Remus, looking for support. Remus put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, reassuring him a little.

“So?” Malf— _Draco_ demanded.

Harry took a deep breath. Where to begin? How much did he really have to say? He couldn’t keep it a secret forever either way, and latest when summer ended, everyone would know. _Just say it._

“Well, er, turns out my dad isn’t my dad. I mean, James Potter isn’t my father, apparently.”

Stunned silence followed. Narcissa stared at him disbelievingly, while Draco’s face was a mix of confusion and shock. Snape, however, was scowling. For a moment Harry wondered what had displeased the man so much, he’d known about this already after all.

“Yeah, so, my mother put some charms on me that made me look like my dad. I mean like James. They’re gone now, so—” He trailed off, unsure what else there was to say.

Narcissa reacted first, reaching out to squeeze Harry’s hands which he had locked together tightly on the table.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” she said softly. “That must have been quite the shock for you.”

Relief washed over Harry, glad that her reaction hadn’t been condescending. Draco stared at his mother incredulously.

“It was,” Harry agreed. “I guess I’m still getting used to it.”

“So who’s your father then?” Draco cut in, earning himself a stern look from his mother.

“I don’t know. Nobody does.”

“Not even a guess?”

“Feel free to guess away,” Harry snapped. “It’s not like I suddenly resemble my real father perfectly, like I did with Da— James. The only reason why I looked so much like him is because it wasn’t actually real. My mother did a thorough job when she put those charms up.”

Narcissa regarded him with a thoughtful look.

“What?” he asked, unable to control his annoyance completely.

“I just— Never mind.”

“No, go on. Speak your mind while we’re at it, because I’d rather not bring the subject up again and again. Say what you have to say,” Harry challenged, opening his arms in invitation.

“Well, I’m not sure if you want to hear it,” Narcissa began hesitant, as if waiting for Harry to change his mind. When he said nothing, she continued with a sigh. “You do rather resemble someone I know. Someone who used to be very close to Lily Evans.”

“It’s not Sirius,” Harry said dismissively. “We’ve already considered that. He was gay.”

“I’m not talking about Sirius,” she said cautiously, her eyes flitting back and forth between the people at the table. Snape’s scowl deepened.

“Who do you mean then?” Harry demanded, starting to lose his patience. She seemed to struggle with herself for a moment, before glancing at Snape.

“Severus,” she said softly, causing the man to wince, “you can’t tell me you don’t see it.”

Harry’s eyes flew from Narcissa to Snape and back again.

“See _what?”_ he asked again. “Who are you talking about?”

Narcissa turned back to Harry and grimaced.

“You look just like Severus, when he was your age. Not entirely, of course, but there are some obvious resemblances. I— I’ve had the thought before, when I first saw you, but it didn’t make any sense. I suppose now it does.”

Harry couldn’t help himself, he laughed.

“You can’t be serious. My mother wasn’t close to Snape.”

Remus cleared his throat. “Actually, they were. Until the end of fifth year or so.”

Harry gaped at him. He looked back at Narcissa, his face a silent demand for an explanation. But Narcissa only grimaced again and shrugged. 

“No, this is ridiculous. Even if they were friends in school, that was years before I was born, there’s no way she’d have— When she got pregnant, that was _years_ later! She wouldn’t have— _with Snape!”_

Harry glared at Snape then, expecting the man to say something, confirming that he never slept with Lily, disproving this entire stupid theory. Instead, Snape just sat there, scowling harder than ever, his jaw clenched. Narcissa looked genuinely sorry, but didn’t say a word. It was Draco who eventually broke the silence.

“Merlin’s beard, you’re right,” he breathed, his eyes flying back and forth between Harry and Snape. “He does look like him!”

Harry turned to Remus again, desperately hoping he’d tell him they were all wrong, but Remus’ face showed only shocked understanding.

“No!” Harry cried. “It can’t be him, you’re all insane!” 

He stood abruptly, unable to bear sitting at that table any longer. Ignoring Remus calling after him, he stormed up the stairs and fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco sure knows how to make an entrance, doesn’t he? Luckily Harry knows all the best hiding spots in Grimmauld Place now, and boy there are quite a few. Now let’s just hope he comes to face the world again sometime soon, but knowing how stubborn Harry can be, I wouldn’t count on it.  
> As always I hope you enjoyed it and I’d love any feedback you might have.  
> \- Z.


	7. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus finally reveals his past with Lily and has a talk with Remus.

Severus watched stone-faced as Potter bolted from the kitchen. Although he was loathe to admit it, he wished he could do the same. Wished he could avoid the undoubtedly unpleasant conversation that was bound to unfold.

“Harry, wait!” Remus was already half out of the room when Narcissa held him back.

“Give him some time,” she said, pulling him back to the table. “He doesn’t want to talk about this now.”

“How do _you_ know what Harry wants?” Remus snapped, looking immensely worried.

“I might not know Harry too well, but I am a mother. Trust me, he’ll appreciate your concern more in a couple of hours, when he’s calmed down.”

She summoned four cups of tea and set the kettle boiling with a flick of her wand, before turning to Severus.

“So,” she said, folding her hands on the table, “now that we’re talking openly: Would you care to explain yourself?”

He sneered at her.

“There’s nothing to explain, you’re wrong,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“And yet you didn’t agree with the boy when he said that his mother would never—”

“That is none of your business!” he snapped, aware of how all three of them were watching him.

“Oh yes, Severus, it is my business,” Remus interjected. “If you slept with Lily while she was with James, if— If you were with her around the time she got pregnant, you could actually be Harry’s father. And if you are, he has a right to know that. So quit the nonsense and just tell me what happened between you and Lily. Why would you let Harry believe that there was something going on if it isn’t true?” Remus pinned him with a fierce look, and Severus was suddenly reminded that this man turned into a rather murderous wolf once a month. “You wouldn’t. So, that makes me think you actually did have an affair with Lily. Is Harry your son? Do you _know?_ Did you know all along?”

“No! Of course not!” Severus cried. “I was as surprised as you were when Albus told us about those charms.” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “Alright, fine. I’ll tell you, so you can leave me well alone afterwards. Lily came to me the night before her wedding, after I hadn’t seen her in years. She wanted to say goodbye, we— We got close. Then I never saw her again. It happened _once_ , it’s absolutely ridiculous to believe I could be— It was just once, it’s impossible. There must be someone else.”

Remus sat back, stunned. Draco’s face was incredulous, while Narcissa was simply shaking her head in disbelief.

“And you didn’t think to _mention_ that, when Albus told us about the charms?!” Remus had found his voice again, sounding seriously agitated now. Severus crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“No, because I am _not_ Potter’s father.”

“How can you be sure?! For fuck’s sake, how can you just dismiss that possibility without even making sure that you’re right in your assumption? Do you have any idea how unfair this is to Harry? All his life he was alone, wanting nothing more than a family, and you _might_ be that family. And instead of at least making sure, you just sit here, too stubborn to even bother to check whether you’re his father or not. Do you really hate him that much?” 

Remus had gotten off his chair during his rant, and was leaning across the table now, his angry face only inches from Severus’. He felt a stab of guilt. No, he didn’t hate the boy that much. He hated James Potter, and he’d hated his carbon copy called Harry Potter, because Harry Potter had forced him to look upon the man who’d taken Lily from him again and again. This past week, however, he’d found himself inexplicably drawn to the boy. None of the irritating little habits he used to display, that were so much like James Potter’s, remained.

“No,” he said softly. “I don’t hate him. But I quite frankly didn’t want to consider the possibility myself, it seemed so absurd. And let’s be honest with ourselves, Potter would rather be an orphan than my son. And I can hardly blame him for that. I figured even if, against all odds, it was true, it wouldn’t be something he’d want to know. So I did not bring up the possibility, because it is irrelevant that it exists. He has you, Remus. For all intents and purposes, you’re currently acting as his guardian and father figure.”

“That’s not the same,” Remus insisted, calmer now.

Severus merely shook his head.

“You saw his reaction,” he said, gesturing towards the stairs.

“He’s just overwhelmed, Severus,” Narcissa cut in. “You said it yourself, you didn’t want to consider the possibility at first. It’s a lot to take in, especially given your…history.”

“You’re talking as if we knew this for sure, may I remind you that we don’t?” Severus replied irritably. “Even though you all seem to have agreed on it, we don’t actually _know_ that I am really Potter’s father. You could very well be wrong. Statistically speaking it is _very_ unlikely that my one night with Lily resulted in her pregnancy.”

“Who else would it be?” Narcissa asked diplomatically.

“How am I supposed to know who Lily’s been with? All we know is that James Potter _isn’t_ Harry’s father. Merlin knows how many affairs she had.”

Remus snorted. “We both know that’s a ridiculous accusation. You knew Lily as well as I did, she was as loyal as they come.”

“She still came to me,” Severus retorted. 

Remus shook his head.

“I was one of her closest friends, she spent all her time with us. Lily didn’t even have the time for an ongoing affair, nor would she have wanted to. It actually makes perfect sense, if you really think about it. You were her one exception, Severus, you always were. You were the one she made excuses for, the one she defended even though you hurt her so much—even after you stopped talking. How did I not see it? Of course she’d have gone to see you before the wedding, that’s such a Lily thing to do. Grant yourself one last time, before your new life begins. She did it with everything. When she became a prefect, the first night of the new school year she convinced me to sneak out in the middle of the night—one last time. When her and James went into hiding, the day before we did the Fidelius charm she made us all go shopping and have a lavish dinner together—one last time.” 

Remus smiled fondly at the memories, then shook his head again.

“It makes sense. Looks like you’ve beaten the statistical odds, Severus,” he said. “It’s either you or James, and we know for a fact that it isn’t James.”

Severus stared at him incredulously. He felt something inside him crumble, as he allowed himself to truly consider that Harry Potter might be his son for the first time.

“I might have a son,” he breathed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “And he hates me, with good reason.” 

His face twisted into a scowl. Merlin, what had he done? He’d been so focused on how much he hated James Potter, that he’d completely ignored that the boy was just a child, like any other.

Narcissa put her hand over his, giving him a mild look.

“From what I’ve seen so far from Harry Potter, he’d give you a second chance if you simply asked him for one,” she said softly, eliciting the first open reaction from Draco in quite a while.

“Yeah, right,” he sneered. “Potter doesn’t even give _first_ chances.”

“Draco, this isn’t the time,” Narcissa said sharply. “Go pick a room.” 

Draco rolled his eyes, but obeyed, leaving the three adults behind in the kitchen. For a long while, they sat in silence, each caught up in their thoughts. Severus’ mind was racing. Potter— _Harry_ —could be his son. He might have a son. He might be a father. _Oh gods._

“I have no idea how to be a father,” he whispered.

“Nobody knows how to be a parent before they become one,” Narcissa replied smoothly, letting go of his hand again.

“But—”

“No but,” Remus interrupted him. “We’ll figure it out somehow. I gave a promise to Harry, that I wouldn’t let go of him again. I meant that. This boy means the world to me, and even if you’re his biological father, you won’t be caring for him alone. You’ll just have to deal with me around.”

Severus scoffed.

“First you insist that it isn’t the same, now you refuse to back down,” he said sardonically. 

“It _isn’t_ the same, and you know that. The fact that the mere knowledge that Harry might be your son has changed your attitude towards him so drastically proves that. But I do love Harry like my own, I’ve known him since he was a baby, and I regret nothing more than not being there for him as he grew up. I won’t abandon him.”

Severus gave a weak nod, as they fell back into silence. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to think. Was he supposed to go after Po— Harry? They hadn’t actually confirmed that he was truly his father, even though he could no longer deny that all signs pointed to yes. What was he supposed to do?

Remus eventually saved him from his never ending thought spiral.

“How about you stay here for now, Severus? There are plenty of rooms that are still free. I doubt that Harry will be ready to talk before tomorrow, if he hasn’t reemerged by now.” He sighed heavily. “And I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him how close you and Lily were. He’ll come around.”

Severus nodded and stood mechanically. As he left the kitchen, he heard the soft voices of Narcissa and Remus continuing to talk. He didn’t want to know what else they were discussing. As if in trance, he made his way up the stairs and out the front door, before apparating directly to the front gates of Hogwarts.

Within half an hour, he had packed up his belongings and was ready to head back to Grimmauld Place. He didn’t. Instead, he sunk down in his armchair and buried his face in his hands. What the hell was happening to him? How had he gone from comfortably detached to inextricably involved in less than a second? Why did he suddenly care whether _Potter_ of all people accepted him?

_He’s your son, of course you care_ , a little voice in his head whispered. He shuddered at the thought, forcing himself to slow down. They might still be wrong about this, Harry might be someone else’s son. And yet, he couldn’t let go of the feeling that he had a responsibility to the boy. Oh, who was he kidding? Remus was right, Lily was the most loyal person he’d ever met—he’d been a fluke, an exception. In an odd way, it made his stomach flutter, even though it had happened years ago. Lily had loved him, in a twisted sort of way. Loved him enough to come to him, enough to be with him even though she’d already agreed to marry James Potter.

He pulled himself together and got out of his damned armchair. It wouldn’t do any good to sit around brooding here, secluding himself. Grabbing his suitcase, he left his quarters, carefully warding the door behind him. It would be the first time in years that he didn’t stay at Hogwarts for more than a couple nights, but he’d made up his mind now. He would stay at Grimmauld Place for as long as it took to sort this mess out. If nothing else, he could at least keep an eye on the Malfoys.

He crossed the grounds quickly, encountering not a single soul as he made his way to the gates of the school. The silence was blissful after a full term of noise. He exited the perimeter of the wards and apparated right to the doorstep of Grimmauld Place. 

The entrance hall was empty. Severus felt decidedly out of place as he made his way towards the stairs. 

“Severus.” 

He whirled around at the sound of his name, coming face to face with Remus. The man gave him a tired smile.

“Follow me, I’ll show you to your room. You could of course choose another one, but there’s only one left that’s actually cleaned, so—” Remus trailed off.

Severus nodded and let Remus lead the way up to the fourth floor. 

“This one’s mine,” Remus said, pointing at the door on the left, before turning to the right door, “That’s yours. There’s a shared bathroom in the middle, you can access it directly from your room.”

Severus gave him a tight smile, then went to enter his new quarters. It was a simple room, only equipped with a bed, a wardrobe and a desk in the corner. He set his suitcase down as he looked around. It would do. If it meant that he got a chance at figuring things out with— with his son, then anything would do.

After he had unpacked his suitcase, he sank down at the desk, staring out of the window. It was a grey day in London and he felt that the bleak view of the street in front of the house matched his glum mood rather well. 

_What am I supposed to do now?_ He considered going downstairs to find Narcissa, but decided against it. He wouldn’t know what to do if he came face to face with Po— Harry, although he was keenly aware that he couldn’t avoid the boy forever. It would be nearing dinner time soon, at the very latest that’s when he’d have to leave the safety of his room.

He straightened. He refused to hide like a coward. If he could face the Dark Lord on a regular basis, he was capable of facing a moody teenage boy. A little voice in his head whispered that there was a difference, that one of them was simply dangerous, while the other one was _emotionally_ dangerous. He did his best to ignore it.

A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Yes?” he answered cautiously. The door opened to reveal Remus standing there, looking slightly awkward.

“May I come in?”

Severus gestured his permission and got out of his chair. It would be impolite to stay seated if he could not offer a seat to his guest. Remus closed the door behind him as he stepped into the room. He looked tired and worried.

“Listen,” Remus began, “I know this is all a little overwhelming. Trust me, I know how you feel. Well, maybe not exactly, but parts of it. I have no idea how to be a father either, but I still want to be there for Harry. And I’m terrified of fucking things up, of doing it all wrong, of disappointing him. I’m guessing you are too.” He sighed. “What I’m trying to say is that you’re not alone. I think it’s time we put all our history behind us for good and work together on figuring this out. For Harry. And Narcissa can help us if we’re completely at a loss. Just— We can do this. Even if it’s terrifying. We just have to help each other out.”

Severus felt an immense wave of gratitude for the man. It would’ve been easy for Remus to simply shut Severus out, to take their antagonistic past as a reason to stay well away from him and let him fend for himself. Instead, here he stood, offering Severus a second chance he hadn’t known he wanted until it was offered to him.

“Yes,” he agreed softly. “That would be nice. But I suppose I should still apologise for how I’ve behaved towards you in the past years. I was…hung up on past grievances and never gave you a chance.”

“You don’t have to apologise, but I appreciate it nevertheless,” Remus replied. “You had good reasons to be wary of me, and I apologise for all the things I did or allowed to happen that made you dislike me in the first place. Let’s just move on from it. The past is the past, what matters now is that Harry needs us. He’s barely sixteen and the whole wizarding world suddenly expects him to kill You-Know-Who. He’ll need all the support he can get, and you and I are equally responsible for him now.”

Severus swallowed as he remembered the prophecy. Harry had to kill the Dark Lord. Why did it have to be him? Why did the universe give Severus a son, just to immediately dangle a blade above his neck? Was he doomed to love people that were being hunted by the Dark Lord? Because he would be coming after Harry, Severus was sure of it. _We’ll just have to protect him,_ he thought stubbornly, but his resolve was weakened as the memory of Lily’s dead body flashed before his inner eye. No, he didn’t just need to protect Harry. He also needed to prepare him for war.

He looked up at Remus and their eyes locked. Remus’ face was set in determination, and Severus was sure he was thinking along the same lines as he himself was. After a few beats of silence, Remus spoke again.

“We should go downstairs, Narcissa is preparing dinner.”

“Alright,” Severus replied warily, unenthusiastic about the prospect of encountering Harry already. Remus smiled at him.

“I doubt he’ll join us,” he said, as he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. “In fact, I’m fairly sure he won’t. Narcissa was right when she said he’d need some time to calm down, knowing Harry we won’t see him for another few hours at least.”

Severus nodded, a stab of guilt going through him.

“It’s not your fault,” Remus said, as if he’d read his mind. “He’s just a teenager, and he’s going through a lot. After all your years of teaching you should know well enough how teenagers can be.”

That got a small smile out of Severus.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Yes, I am.”

Severus rolled his eyes, but he felt decidedly better. Maybe Remus wasn’t such bad company after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was about time Severus came clean about all that. Now Harry just has to accept any of it and give one of those chances Draco is so upset about.  
> As always I hope that was enjoyable and I’d love any feedback.  
> All your comments make me so happy <3 way to keep me motivated to write *fast*! Nevertheless, a little warning: Exams are around the corner so my posting might slow down dramatically for a while - but don't worry, I'll still try to write as much as is reasonable besides studying.  
> \- Z.


	8. Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally learns for certain who his father is and struggles to wrap his head around it.

It was already dark outside when Harry finally resigned himself to leave the hidden library. He’d spent the past several hours digging through a box full of Sirius‘ things that Kreacher had brought him at his request. He’d wanted for something familiar and Sirius had been the first person he thought of. 

The box was filled with all sorts of things—from Gryffindor scarves to closed bottles of Butterbeer that had expired ages ago—but Harry was mostly drawn to the countless letters covering the bottom of it. It was both heartbreaking and oddly soothing to leaf through letter after letter from his mother, letters in which she told Sirius about Harry, about how he was already flying on a toy broom on his first birthday or how he’d just said his first word. Then, there were letters from his— from James, talking about how he missed leaving the house, but how idyllic family life was, how Harry loved playing with the cat. James might not have been Harry’s real father, but he’d loved him. 

Harry didn’t know what to do with that. Would he still have loved him if he’d known he was someone else’s child? If he was _Snape’s_ child? He shook his head vigorously, stubbornly refusing to believe that ridiculous idea. Unless someone could present him with absolute proof that Snape was actually his father, he wouldn’t believe it.

With a sigh, he put the last letter he’d been reading onto the pile next to the box, where he’d put all the letters he’d already read. There were so many. Pacified by the thought that he would come back the next day, he forced himself to get to his feet and put the box away. He opened the door as quietly as he could, extinguishing the lamps behind him with a flick of his wand, which left him standing in the complete darkness of the drawing room. After carefully closing the door, he lit his wand and made his way towards his room. 

He’d almost made it without encountering anyone, when the door to the smaller bathroom on the third floor opened and he found himself standing right in front of Draco Malfoy. A half-naked Draco Malfoy at that. He’d apparently taken a shower, judging by his still damp hair and the steam that rolled out of the bathroom behind him, as he stood there in nothing but his pyjama bottoms. Harry couldn’t help himself, he let his eyes wander. Mal— _Draco_ was undeniably handsome, all slender, lean muscle and unrealistically pale skin. Harry’s gaze wandered upwards over Draco’s neck to his face. Their eyes locked. There was something odd in Draco’s gaze, something Harry couldn’t really decipher. Then Draco’s face twisted into a sneer, and it was gone.

“Would you look at that, Saint Potter is gracing us with his presence again,” Draco drawled.

Harry didn’t respond and simply walked over to his room. He didn’t have the nerves to deal with petty taunts now. Letting the door fall shut behind him, he kicked off his house shoes and threw himself onto the bed. He was suddenly exhausted. It took him a great amount of self-control to force himself to get up again and properly get ready for bed, and when he finally crawled under the covers he barely managed to start his Occlumency exercises before drifting off to sleep.

The following morning came too soon. Harry got up groggily, trying not to think about what awaited him at breakfast. He left his room warily about half an hour later, dressed in the best-fitting clothes he’d been able to find. Since his transformation had made him taller, most of Dudley’s hand-me-downs were now merely three times too wide, but at least not way too long any longer. Still, they did very little to boost his confidence for the upcoming confrontation. He wished he could just put on his school robes again, at least those fit him properly. Pushing those thoughts away firmly, he made his way down into the kitchen, where Narcissa was already preparing breakfast.

“Good morning,” she said, giving him a small smile. 

He only nodded in response and sat down at the table. If he was lucky, he could eat and disappear again before anyone else came down. Narcissa would leave him alone at least. His hopes were destroyed only a couple minutes later, when Draco strolled into the kitchen, looking as if he owned the place. Grey eyes trailed over Harry’s, but apart from that both boys resorted to ignoring each other, as Draco greeted his mother and sat down. They ate in silence for a while, Narcissa still pottering around at the stove.

The only warning Harry got were soft steps on the stairs before Remus entered, closely followed by Snape. _Here we go._

“Harry,” Remus said, giving him a somewhat forced smile. 

Harry didn’t answer. He had half a mind to just get up and leave again, but willed himself to stay seated. Better to get this over with. Narcissa finally abandoned her spot at the stove and took a seat on Harry’s left next to Draco, while Remus and Snape sat down on the right side of the table. There was a beat of silence, then Remus cleared his throat.

“I know this is a rather difficult situation for you, but can we at least talk about this?” he asked gently, eyes pleading. 

Harry looked at Snape, who had his eyes fixed on his plate, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Good.

“There’s nothing to talk about, you’re all completely crazy. There is absolutely no proof that I’m his son and the only reason you think I am is because he’s too proud to admit that he’d never stand a chance with my mother.”

“And because you look like him,” Draco supplied, earning himself a glare from both Harry and Narcissa.

“That’s what _you_ say,” Harry said flatly. “And it’s hardly proof. If I remember correctly, you yourself thought I looked like Sirius first, so it can’t be _that_ obvious.” 

Snape’s eyes flew up when Harry addressed him directly, betraying a hint of surprise. Harry glared back at him. _Yes, I know about that,_ he thought grimly, for once wishing the other man was using his damned Legilimency on him.

“Harry,” Remus said soothingly, “there are things you don’t know about Lily. Will you let me explain?”

Harry regarded him for a moment, pursing his lips, then gave a curt nod. Remus took a deep breath and launched into his explanations. Harry was careful to keep his face completely neutral, as he learned about the friendship between his mother and Snape in their early Hogwarts years, their eventual falling out and the alleged goodbye right before she‘d married James, even though his insides churned uncomfortably at the implications of it all. Snape himself didn’t say a word and kept his eyes on Remus, his jaw clenched tightly. When Remus finally fell silent, the tension at the table was palpable as everyone’s eyes swivelled to Harry.

He took a moment, weighing his options—he still wasn’t convinced. Although he had to admit that he couldn’t deny the _possibility_ of Snape being his biological father, he still thought it absurd to consider that— It was just absurd. Feeling four pairs of eyes on him, he forced himself to speak.

“That’s still no proof.”

Snape’s lips all but disappeared as he pressed them firmly together, clearly biting back some snarky answer. Well, too bad. If the slimy git hadn’t been so unpleasant for the past five years, maybe Harry would’ve been more amenable to the idea. Harry stopped for a moment, as he noticed how weirdly contradictory that thought was, as if he was refusing the idea to get back at Snape—who would only be bothered by that if it was actually true. No, no, he wasn’t refusing the idea because he didn’t like Snape, he was refusing it because it was ridiculous. Yes, that was it.

“Harry, I know you and Severus haven’t got the best history with each other, but won’t you at least _consider_ —”

“There’s a spell,” Snape interrupted, speaking for the first time. “If you consent to participate, we can easily determine whether it’s the truth or not. Let’s make this simple.”

Harry eyed the man suspiciously.

“What spell? How does it work? If you think I’m blindly participating in some weird ritual, you’re dead wrong.”

“It’s a simple heritage spell, it works by matching the magical signature of two people. I’m sure Narcissa and Draco could demonstrate.” 

Snape gave the Malfoys a pointed look. Narcissa sighed, but nodded.

“Of course, come Draco,” she said, getting out of her chair. Draco made an exasperated noise but followed his mother to the front of the kitchen.

“Explain everything you’re doing,” Harry demanded. “I want to know what the spell does, how it does it, how accurate it is, how reliable it is—everything.” 

Narcissa nodded dutifully.

“The first step is for both of us to make our own magical signature visible, by revealing our magical core. Repeat after me, Draco: Subscriptio Magus Proprius.”

As they both spoke the incantation, a faint glow lifted from their chests, quickly turning into two bright, pulsing shapes of light floating in front of them. Colours danced around them, as strings of magic shaped and reshaped themselves, ever forming new patterns. It was mesmerising. They were distinctly different, not just by looks, but also in how they _felt_. Harry couldn’t remember ever being so aware of someone’s magic as now, watching Draco’s core pulse and shift. It felt oddly familiar to him, giving him an odd sense of comfort he couldn’t quite parse, like he’d always known exactly what Draco’s magic felt like, he’d just never explicitly noticed. For a moment, Harry just stared in awe, before remembering why they were doing this in the first place. He refocused his attention on Narcissa, motioning her to continue her explanations.

“As you can see, they’re quite different. It is however possible to look for familial relation by matching the magical signatures to each other based on blood. It will create a connection between the cores, a temporary bond that will dissipate again after the spell ends. The stronger the blood-match, the stronger the bond; the stronger the bond, the brighter and clearer it will be. It's not foolproof, since it presents merely a gradient depending on the match. However, as between parents and children the match is always fifty percent by default, the bond should turn almost white, so it should be more than clear enough for our purposes.”

“Almost white?” Draco interrupted. “Shouldn’t the closest possible bond be completely white? What could be closer than the relation between parents and children?”

“Only identical twins achieve a fully white bond,” Narcissa replied evenly. “Normal siblings reach approximately the same match as parents and their children.”

Draco tilted his head considering that for a second, then shrugged indifferently. Harry knew little about Muggle biology and genetics, but he vaguely remembered Hermione mentioning something along those lines once, when she’d ranted about the idiocy of pure-blood lineage constraints. Sometimes he wondered where she found the time to learn all those things, when their Hogwarts curriculum kept them rather sufficiently busy all year round. Once more he forced himself to pay attention to Narcissa again, who continued to speak.

“The incantation for this second step is Par Sanguis Familia.”

Immediately after Narcissa and Draco had done the spell, a link formed between their bonds. It was a thick thread of light, glowing so bright that its colour was barely perceptible. Harry guessed it was green, or maybe blue. It was really very difficult to tell. After a few seconds, Narcissa ended the spell with a flick of her wand, while Draco murmured a Finite to make his core disappear again.

Harry crossed his arms, considering the spell. It seemed straightforward enough, no doubt, and he generally trusted Narcissa’s word—however he’d gotten to that point—but it wasn’t a definitive yes-or-no answer. What if the differences to the bond were subtle? What if the link between unrelated people would glow almost equally as bright? Would he be able to tell the difference? Putting on his best stubborn face, he said as much. 

Snape frowned slightly, then stood, turning to Draco.

“Would you mind?” he asked uncharacteristically softly.

Draco rolled his eyes, but spoke the first incantation without hesitation. Snape followed suit, conjuring forth his own magical signature. Harry frowned. Snape’s magic felt familiar too, albeit differently than Draco’s, but much more so than Narcissa’s. He quickly smothered the feeling, telling himself he simply hadn’t payed any attention to Narcissa.

“Par Sanguis Familia.” 

Harry held his breath as Draco and Snape spoke the incantation at the same time. The link followed immediately. It was nothing like the bond between Narcissa and Draco had been. While the string was still reasonably thick, it was obviously not white. Instead, it was a gradient from purple on Snape’s end to teal on Draco’s end. _Pretty obvious difference,_ he conceded, resigned. 

Both Narcissa and Remus gave him annoyingly soft smiles, and he stood more abruptly than would’ve been necessary.

Draco sneered at him as he ended his spell and sat back down at the table, while Harry moved to stand in front of Snape, whose core was still pulsing in front of him. Harry wrestled with conflicting urges inside him. Part of him wanted to bolt, didn’t want to know, wanted to get away and be alone and comfort himself with Sirius’ things, while another, smaller part of him was buzzing with anticipation. He might have a father, a living parent, right in front of him.

“Subscriptio Magus Proprius,” he said quietly. It was a very strange feeling, a mixture of a pulling sensation paired with a warm tingle spreading out from his chest. The glowing shape in front of him was blindingly bright and _very_ colourful. It was larger than Snape’s, and rather more erratic in the way it shifted, branching out wildly at a much faster pace. He heard a sharp inhale from the table and glanced over at Remus, Draco and Narcissa, unsure who it had come from. Their faces all mirrored the same expression of surprise.

“What is it?” asked Harry. Remus quickly shook his head.

“Nothing, cub, go on.”

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Harry searched Remus’ face for a hint at what had caused their reaction, but found nothing. With a deep breath, he turned back to Snape. _Here we go._

“Par Sanguis Familia.” 

Snape echoed his words promptly and the bond formed. A thick, blindingly bright bond. Harry’s heart skipped a beat and began to race, while at the same time his stomach turned to ice. 

He had a father. A real father. 

_A father who hated me for the past five years and seized every opportunity to make me miserable._

A _living_ father!

_Who hates me._

Who was alive.

_Hating me._

“Harry,” Remus said softly, and Harry realised he’d been speechlessly staring at the bright almost-white thread connecting him to Snape. Ending the spell abruptly, he turned away from Snape, trying to compose himself. His eyes met Draco’s and the unexpected concern in them threw him off balance even more. He had to get out of here. After making barely two steps towards the stairs, Remus stood in front of him, blocking his way.

“We should talk about this,” Remus insisted.

Harry barely kept himself from shoving him out of the way. He knew that, he knew that they’d have to talk about it eventually, but did it really have to be right now? Too many emotions swirled around in him, too many conflicting reactions he couldn’t all follow at the same time. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to keep his voice level.

“Not now,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

Remus eyed him worriedly, searching his face as if trying to find his thoughts written somewhere. He kept Remus’ gaze steadily, hoping that whatever he saw would convince him to let Harry go. It did. As soon as Remus stepped aside with a resigned sigh, Harry bolted out of the kitchen and fled back into the hidden library.

Even though he was fairly sure none of his current house mates knew about the hidden rooms, he threw the strongest locking charm he knew at the door, along with a silencing charm just for good measure. Breathing deeply, he tried to clear his mind, to sort the millions of jumbled thoughts racing through his brain.

Facts. He needed facts.

Fact number one: He was Snape’s son. Snape was his father.

Fact number two: Snape hated him.

Conclusion number one: His father hated him.

Fact number three: He hated Snape. Or at least he used to hate Snape. Could hate vanish just like that, simply because he learned that the man was his father? He’d still treated him horribly the entire time they’d known each other. And not just him, he’d bullied Hermione, too, not to mention that he’d managed to become Neville’s Boggart with his hostile attitude. There was barely any redeeming quality about him. And nevertheless, Harry suddenly had a hard time to call upon the familiar hatred he used to have for Snape.

_God, what would James think? What would Sirius think?_

The thought crashed into him like a knock-back jinx. Sirius hated Snape. He’d probably have rejected Harry if he’d known. And James— James couldn’t possibly have loved Harry if he’d known. For some reason, that hurt more than the fact that Snape himself hated him. For almost sixteen years, Harry had built an image of James— _his father_ —in his mind. For two years he’d built and enjoyed a relationship with James’ best friend, who had accepted him like a son. And now, within barely more than a week, he’d lost Sirius, learnt that the man he’d loved as a father, even if only in memory, was _not_ his father, but instead his father was the man they’d hated most, meaning they would’ve hated Harry too. It was too much.

Tears began to spill from his eyes for the first time since that conversation with Remus on his first day after waking up at Grimmauld Place. Grief, sadness, anger and desperation caught up with him, swallowing him, choking him, suffocating him. Sinking down to his knees, Harry buried his face in his hands and, for the first time in years, simply let go.

Harry wasn’t sure how long he stayed on the floor, crying like a child. Eventually, he felt like every emotion had been poured out of him, drained and left out to disappear into nothing. He felt empty, numb and exhausted. And _thirsty._ After summoning Kreacher for a glass of water, he cast a Tempus, realising it was well past lunch time. He’d been here for hours. 

The thought of retreating to the safety of his bed and escaping into sleep finally provided him with the necessary willpower to get back to his feet. He wished he had his Invisibility Cloak with him, just to curb any risk of running into anyone. Chances were that he looked absolutely atrocious after hours of crying.

The hallway was completely silent. For a moment he wondered where the hell everyone had gone, but quickly decided he didn’t care, so long as they weren’t between him and his room. Nobody was. Some of his tension went out of him and he sagged a little as he closed the door behind him with a relieved sigh. He was _exhausted_. With only half a mind, he quickly stripped down to his pants, threw on a shirt he usually slept in and crawled under the covers, falling asleep almost immediately.

A loud knock on the door startled him awake. Harry’s sleep-addled brain was too slow for his mouth.

“Yes?”

Remus slipped inside quietly, carefully closing the door behind him. Harry wished he’d warded that damn door, that would’ve prevented such a blunder.

“How are you feeling?” Remus asked carefully, sitting down at the edge of Harry’s bed.

“Tired,” Harry replied curtly, not looking into Remus’ direction. There was a pause before Remus spoke again.

“You don’t want to talk about it, I get it. I’ve told Severus to give you time and he respects that. But you have to eat something eventually, and your Occlumency lessons are still important. Do you think you can at least come down for that?”

Harry frowned. He absolutely didn’t feel like sitting at a dinner table in uncomfortable silence with three Slytherins, nor did he fancy spending an hour alone with Snape potentially invading his head.

“Fine,” he heard himself say.

“Good,” Remus replied, getting up. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he paused, hovering next to Harry’s bed, obviously searching for the right words.

“I— If I can do anything for you, all you have to do is ask. I— I’m not sure what you need. Narcissa insisted you needed time to calm down, but looking at you I don’t see anger. I suppose that should be a good thing, but I’m worried about you, Harry. I want to help you, but I don’t know what to do. You don’t have to deal with this alone. You don’t have to deal with anything alone ever again.” Remus let out a breath and fiddled with his shirt awkwardly. “I suppose I’ll leave you alone for now. But if you need me, please, come to me.”

With that, he turned to leave.

“Would he have hated me?” Again, Harry’s brain was too slow for his mouth.

“Who?”

“Sirius. He hated Snape. Would he have hated me too? Do you?”

Remus sat back down on the bed, hesitantly putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry still couldn’t look at him.

“I could never hate you, I already told you that you’re family to me. That didn’t change in the slightest. As for Sirius, I don’t think he would’ve hated you.”

“He was my godfather because he was James’ best friend. He never would’ve been if mom hadn’t concealed who my real father is. He never would’ve had any reason to like me or care for me.”

“Sirius was as much Lily’s friend as he was James’ friend, as was I. But besides that, Sirius didn’t love you because you were James’ or Lily’s son, he loved you because you are a wonderful young man, Harry. The same goes for me. In the three years since I’ve known you you’ve grown and achieved so much. You’re generous, kind and strong. I care for you because of who you are, not because of who your parents were, and I’m certain Sirius would’ve said the same.”

Remus gave his shoulder a light squeeze. Harry was struggling to blink away unwanted tears, still stubbornly staring at the wall. He wanted to believe what Remus was saying, he really did. Still, there was a weight on his chest that made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

The silence was broken by Harry’s stomach growling loudly. Right, he’d skipped lunch. And he’d never finished breakfast.

“Come on, let’s get you something to eat, it’ll help.” Remus tugged on his arm gently.

“I don’t want to see anyone.”

“We’ll claim the kitchen for ourselves. You don’t have to see any of them for now.”

Reluctantly, Harry allowed Remus to coax him out of bed. He changed quickly in the bathroom, before following him down into the kitchen. Remus didn’t try to get him to talk as he gulped down a plate of food Narcissa had set aside for him at lunch, along with a piece of chocolate Remus practically forced onto him. The food did help, but it didn’t vanquish the empty feeling in his chest. Nevertheless, he felt considerably better by the time their peace was disturbed by Snape stepping into the kitchen.

At Harry’s glare, he quickly raised both his hands in the air defensively.

“I’m not going to insist on a conversation you don’t want to have, relax. Just hear me out, please.”

Harry didn’t move. Snape sighed heavily.

“I am aware that our relationship thus far has been…less than ideal. I recognise that I am largely at fault for that, and I wish to apologise for my behaviour in the past, although I do have viable reasons for some of it. If— I do hope to— I never imagined I could be a father, but now that I am, I want to live up to that title. If you never see me that way, I’d understand, but— I— I hope you will one day be willing to listen to all my reasons at least. If not, I suppose that’s my own fault.”

Silence fell over the kitchen, as Harry seized up Snape’s speech. _He wants to be your father_ , whispered a little voice in his head. It sparked a tiny flame of hope in him, despite everything.

“Fine,” he said coolly.

Snape visibly relaxed. Remus gave Harry an encouraging smile, before addressing Snape.

“Would you mind coming back later—”

“It’s fine,” Harry interrupted. “You can stay, sir.”

Snape frowned. Ungrateful bastard.

“Call me Severus, Harry.”

Harry blinked. He hadn’t expected _that_. A snarky response was already on the tip of his tongue when he managed to control himself.

“Alright.”

Remus practically beamed at him. Harry wanted to leave.

“I’ll go, we can do Occlumency after dinner.”

“Alright,” Sn— _Severus_ replied, stepping aside to let him pass.

Relief washed over Harry as he once again escaped the kitchen. Maybe this time he’d actually get to look into some of the books in that library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> subscriptio (lat.) = signature  
> magus (lat.) = magical  
> proprius (lat.) = personal  
> par (lat.) = match  
> sanguis (lat.) = blood  
> familia (lat.) = family
> 
> Well, it’s official now! What do you think, how are they gonna deal with it? Poor Harry sure has to process a lot of shit all at once - Sirius, James, Severus, the prophecy, Draco’s pretty eyes…
> 
> I'm still in exam phase so by posting this chapter I'm breaking my own rule of staying 12 chapters ahead, since I haven't yet finished chapter 20 - but I just wanted this "first part" (aka. the time before they all know for sure) to be wrapped up before going down the rabbit hole of brain damage and behavioural disorders (I study Neuropsychology).  
> I might be posting writing updates on my twitter (@Zaharya_V), but depending on how badly studying is going... oh well.  
> To give you something to look forward to during the potentially extended wait: The next chapter finally introduces Draco's POV ;)
> 
> As always I hope you enjoyed it and thank you so much for reading <3  
> \- Z.


	9. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco settles in at Grimmauld Place and there's nothing to do - except aggravating Potter and lots of thinking.

Draco watched Potter disappear into the drawing room. Again. He wondered what could possibly be so interesting about it for Potter to repeatedly spend hours on end in there. Not that he cared what Potter was doing, he simply wanted to know what kind of house he lived in. Although his mother assured him that he’d visited the place as a child, he couldn’t remember a thing about it. He honestly didn’t remember much of his childhood in general. Just bland template memories of the Manor, silent dinners and occasional playdates with Greg and Vince. 

In contrast, Grimmauld Place was incredibly interesting, if not quite up to Draco’s usual standards. The most intriguing question of all was _why the hell_ had Severus brought them here? The revelation that his godfather wasn’t merely trying to protect Draco and his mother, but actually a traitor to the Dark Lord had been more than a little shocking. At least Draco assumed he was a traitor, there was no other explanation for him to bring them to _Potter’s_ house. When he’d questioned his mother about it, she’d merely claimed that she didn’t know who Severus was working with to keep them all hidden here. Draco would bet his money on Dumbledore. Who else would dare to stand up to the Dark Lord?

_Potter,_ his mind supplied helpfully.

Yeah, Potter. Right. Stupid, arrogant, perfect little Potter. He still hadn’t reappeared out of the drawing room. Draco knew, because he kept his door open and would hear Potter coming up the stairs. What the hell was he _doing_ in there? Unless he had gone down into the kitchen—but he wouldn’t, not while Severus was there.

That was a whole different situation Draco had not expected. Severus was Potter’s father. He wasn’t sure what to do with this revelation, since it was technically none of his concern. And yet, he couldn’t help but wonder what Severus must feel like, discovering that the bloody “Chosen One” was his son, while he himself served the Dark Lord—albeit unfaithfully. Did Potter know that Severus was a Death Eater? What would he do if he found out? He couldn’t help but feel like it wouldn’t be a standard Potter-tantrum; loud, but ultimately harmless. No, he was…different, somehow. It was hard to pinpoint.

And then there was that little detail of how much Potter’s exterior had changed all of a sudden. Potter’s new face had completely thrown him off balance. Not that Draco would ever admit it, but Potter had always been stupidly attractive, even in his weird ill-fitted Muggle clothes, but now? Downright ridiculous. Even the slightly longer, jet-black hair that came down to his jaw in loose waves suited him. 

And his _magic._ Merlin, his magic. Draco hadn’t seen many magical cores before, but even he had been able to tell that Potter was more than just a little more powerful than the average wizard. He frowned slightly at the memory of the spell. The feeling of Potter’s magic had been strangely…familiar. Completely different from Severus’, whom Draco was much closer to. It didn’t make any sense. But this was Potter, so of course it wouldn’t make sense. Potter, who somehow had gotten even more attractive and was stupidly powerful. It really wasn’t fair how everything just seemed to _fall into his lap_. Draco despised him. Him and the rest of his stupid Golden Trio.

_But now they’re not here,_ he thought despite himself. Now Potter wouldn’t constantly be surrounded by adoring fans, wouldn’t be distracted by loud, obnoxious Gryffindors. Maybe they could— 

Draco cut himself off before letting himself finish that thought, no use in entertaining impossible pipe-dreams. He got off his bed and leisurely made his way down into the kitchen. He wanted sweets. Lupin and Severus were sat at the table talking quietly, glancing up warily when Draco walked in. After plundering the pantry by grabbing the last piece of chocolate, he lazily went back upstairs. 

In front of the drawing room, he paused. The door was open and the room seemed…empty? Had he seriously missed Potter going upstairs in those two minutes he’d been down in the kitchen? Frustration bubbled up in him, frustration with Potter, with himself and with the unfairness of Potter’s apparent ability to avoid him. Sulking, he stalked back into his bedroom, right next to Potter’s. He’d run into him eventually. And if he didn’t there were still meal times. Draco grinned. His mother was quite insistent on upholding proper dining routines, even in the face of rather unwilling company. Potter would have to get over his arrogance and talk to him eventually.

Potter didn’t talk to him at dinner. He didn’t talk to him the next day either, or the next. Instead, he ate silently, the tension between him and Severus so thick you could’ve cut the air with a knife. As soon as his plate was empty, Potter disappeared immediately after each meal, avoiding to talk to anyone at all, save for Lupin, who had the privilege to be allowed to visit Potter’s room—if Potter was there in the first place.

After three days, Draco’s frustration with Potter’s downtrodden mood got the better of him, and he threw a mild stinging-hex at Potter, just before the Gryffindor could slip into his bedroom. Potter whirled around, eyes blazing, and Draco put on his best condescending smirk. They stared each other down for several long seconds, before Potter had the _audacity_ to turn away and close his bedroom door behind him, leaving Draco standing in his own doorway, alone.

After that, Draco’s frustration festered and grew rapidly. How dare the arrogant git ignore him? Carefully avoiding the watchful eyes of his mother, Severus and Lupin, Draco slowly picked up his usual routine of aggravating Potter again. It had remarkably little effect, which in turn aggravated Draco. 

The tension in the house was near unbearable by the end of Draco’s first week of living there. Severus and Potter were clearly at odds with each other, with Potter avoiding contact as much as possible, while Severus made rather awkward attempts at civility or even friendliness. Lupin spent his time either in Potter’s room or in his own, doing Merlin knows what. His mother had put her mind to cleaning up the house, after wringing a hesitant permission out of Potter during dinner. She kept herself busy with clearing out the dining room, which left Draco to his own devices for the most part. Having already completed his homework for the entire summer, he spent an increasing amount of time in the dried out backyard, practising spells or reading a book he’d snatched from the library. He was bored out of his mind, trying to keep the anxiety lingering in the back of his mind at bay.

Whenever he came across Potter, though, his boredom fell away. While it was slow-going, he could see that Potter’s self-control was wavering. True enough, only two more days later, Potter broke.

Draco didn’t even do much. He simply bumped into Potter’s side, as he tried to get past Draco down the stairs, but instead of arrogant indifference, this time, Potter reacted, shoving Draco back with considerably more force than he’d expected.

“Watch it,” Potter hissed angrily, green eyes piercing.

Draco smirked, doing his best to look unaffected by their sudden proximity. There he was. Angry, fiery Potter. Draco felt an odd sense of relief at seeing some _life_ return to those green eyes, after they’d been depressingly dull, full of sadness and tension for the past week.

“Sure, whatever Saint Potter wishes,” he drawled, before pushing past Potter forcing himself not to run up the stairs.

Following this initial run-in between the two, things got heated quite quickly. Within barely more than a day, they were back to shoves, tripping-jinxes, and murmured “prat” and “git” whenever they passed each other. Draco was delighted to be able to rile Potter up again, and he absolutely revelled in the heat that filled Potter’s eyes every time they exchanged glares. Admittedly, Potter was still _different_ from before, but at least he was _reacting_ again. He looked alive, strong and incredibly hot— _objectively_ , of course. Draco was rather proud of himself.

His first priority objective—riling up Potter—achieved, Draco found himself growing restless again between his increasingly frequent encounters with the Gryffindor. Although he had plenty of books to entertain himself with, now that his mind was satisfied with Potter’s level of liveliness, he had too much space to think about other things. Darker things. Things like the fact that his father would probably have forced him to take the Mark if he hadn’t been arrested. Those thoughts began to take up more and more space in Draco’s head as the days passed.

Draco had met the Dark Lord before, he’d visited the Manor several times during the last year, twice during the holidays when Draco had been home. He’d been terrified like never before. Terrified and deeply disturbed. Whatever his father must have seen in the Dark Lord once was long gone. The man—if you could even call him a man—was more than obviously insane. The realisation had shattered the last bit of respect Draco had held for his father. The worst thing was that it was nothing but a relief. Draco had been struggling for a while to unify his growing discomfort at the bigoted ideals of his father with his unshakeable desire to please the Malfoy Lord. It had proven an impossible task.

Draco sank back into the tree he was leaning against, sitting on the dirty ground in Grimmauld Place’s backyard.

All his life he’d wanted nothing more than his father’s approval. He’d never even gotten as much as a simple acknowledgement of his impeccable grades. Nothing. Just nothing. His father had raised him to be calculating, to be secretive, to socialise with the proper people, to make sure they feared and respected him, that they deferred to him as they should. The first time he’d ever tried to stretch his wings and make a friend, convinced that nobody would ever turn away a _Malfoy_ , because Malfoys were part of the absolute elite, he’d been promptly rejected for a goddamn Weasel and a mud— for Granger. 

His entire self-image had been shattered that day. His father hadn’t cared one bit. Instead, he’d told Draco that he was disappointed for coming in second-best after a mudblood. Draco had turned his self-hatred against Potter, for rejecting him, and against Potter’s friends, out of jealousy. His father had positively delighted in the animosity between the children. Looking back, it was completely ridiculous. But now his father was gone, now it was easy to see the truth, back then he’d been right there, judging Draco at every turn. And Draco had _tried_ , he’d really tried to make him proud. His grades had been impeccable, his table manners flawless, his friends from the right social circles. He’d acted like a perfect pure-blood, no, a perfect blood-purist even, spitting slurs, looking down on his classmates like they were inherently inferior to him, and always, always hating Potter.

It had never been enough.

By the end of second year, after hearing that his father had actually been indirectly responsible for all those attacks, he couldn’t ignore anymore that he disagreed with his ideologies. The desire to please him hadn’t lessened in the least, despite Draco’s inner conflict. And so he’d kept up his perfect pure-blood mask, his air of superiority, his shield of hostility, keeping everyone out, denying that he didn’t really want to be like this at all. He had teased and bullied, out of jealousy and desperation, hoping his father would eventually be satisfied. Potter had stayed at the centre of it all, as always, surrounded by friends and admirers, and _Merlin,_ Draco wanted him so badly, but it could never be possible, so it was better to avoid thinking of it at all, even as he secretly—so secretly he even convinced himself that there was nothing—worried his way through third year during which Potter was apparently hunted by a mass murderer, immediately followed by the goddamn Triwizard Tournament which Potter _really_ shouldn’t have been allowed to participate in. Draco still didn’t understand how Dumbledore could’ve let that happen, why nobody had intervened.

And then the Dark Lord had returned and his father’s expectations had turned from passive ones to active demands. _“Follow Umbridge’s lead, she’ll get Hogwarts cleansed.”_ Merlin, how he hated that toad. At this point, Draco had given up on earning his father’s approval, settling for protecting his own life instead—overnight, obedience wasn’t a choice anymore, but a matter of survival. There was not a shred of doubt in Draco’s mind that his father would’ve turned him over to the Dark Lord without hesitation, should the Dark Lord have demanded it. Vague hints at Draco taking the Mark had loomed over his head all year already.

Guilt had been ripping him apart throughout all of fifth year, as he helped to stomp out a resistance against Umbridge he’d rather have joined than eradicated. He still bullied Potter, but now it felt so much worse, because Potter had _everything_ and Draco hated him, but at the same time he really didn’t. But he didn’t have a choice. He could never be part of their world, because he was a _Malfoy_ , and Malfoys don’t mix with the rabble. He wouldn’t even know how to be anyone else than the carefully trained Malfoy heir his father had made out of him. He would never fit in with them, so it was better to stay with what he knew, where his defences were firmly in place and the pain was familiar.

Despite the mid-summer heat, Draco felt ice cold as he lay in the garden, staring at the clouds.

The night his father was arrested Draco had felt a freedom he hadn’t thought possible, followed immediately by immense dread. While his father was responsible in one way or another for most of the misery in his life, he’d also been the only shield between his mother, Draco and the Dark Lord himself. Severus may have gotten him out of taking the Mark for now, but he couldn’t hide at Grimmauld Place forever. Eventually, the Dark Lord would come for him, or maybe his father would do it himself, a punishment for Draco’s blatant betrayal of Malfoy ideals.

“And what are you moping about?” Severus’ drawl ripped Draco out of his rumination and he sat up quickly, straightening his robes.

“I’m not moping,” he quipped, smoothing over his hair. One must have standards.

“You looked like you were about to either hex something or have a breakdown. I’ve known you all your life, Draco, you can’t lie to me.”

Draco regarded his godfather for a moment. It was true. Severus _had_ known him all his life. Him and his father had been friends back at school, despite being several years apart. They must have been rather close, for his father to name Severus his godfather, but whenever he asked, both of his parents evaded his questions.

“I was just thinking,” he began, “how I’m on borrowed time here. The Dark Lord wants me to take his Mark, and you know as well as I do that there is no refusing him indefinitely. Eventually I’ll have to choose between the Mark or the killing curse.”

“We will protect you,” Severus said firmly.

“We, we, we! Who _is_ ‘we’? I’m fairly certain by now that you’re not all that loyal to the Dark Lord, but that just leaves me with more questions. You brought me and mother here before you knew that you’re Potter’s father, so your connection to him has to be through something else. I’m guessing Dumbledore, the man is a meddler to the core, even mother agrees with that. The most logical conclusion is that you’re not just disloyal, you’re an actual traitor to the Dark Lord. But there’s no certainty of that either, maybe you’re just using Dumbledore to protect mother and me—which we’re eternally grateful for, but if you eventually go back to the Dark Lord, what happens to us then?” He was talking himself into a rage, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “And what about Potter? He’s your _son!_ Does he know? Does he know you kneel to the monster who killed his mother? Shouldn’t fathers fucking _care_ for their sons? Shouldn’t fathers be on their children’s side, protect them, back them up?”

“Draco—”

“If my father ever get’s out of Azkaban, I’m done for! He’ll—”

“Draco!” Severus shouted, cutting through Draco’s rising voice. “He _won’t_ get to you. I promise. I’ll keep you safe. You and your mother.”

Draco nodded mutely, suddenly lacking the energy to respond with words. Severus gave a deep sigh, cast a cleaning charm at the floor and sat down next to Draco.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “Fathers should care for their sons, protect them. I know that. And I’m trying, but I can’t really blame him for not letting me. I’ve been horrible to him from the day we met—”

“That makes two of us.”

“—and he has every right to resent me. I’ve done nothing to deserve his forgiveness, let alone his affection. But I am trying to change that, hoping that I might one day become a man he wants to call father.” Severus sighed heavily. “There are certain…complications, however. My position with the Dark Lord is precarious, and more important than you could possibly imagine. In order to ensure it, I’ve done many regrettable things, some of which Harry will not easily forgive. And I must continue to do them, which doesn’t make this any easier.”

Draco opened his mouth to ask what exactly he’d done, but Severus shook his head, speaking over him.

“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you more, Draco. I truly wish I could.”

Severus looked genuinely sad. Draco nodded again. Things were bound to be complicated. Maybe that’s just the way things were supposed to be.

“I— I’ll go read or something,” Draco said softly. He wanted to think of something else, wanted to forget all about Dark Lords and imprisoned fathers.

He made his way upstairs as quietly as possible, not keen on having his mother intercept him. 

He didn’t run into his mother, no, of course not. He ran into Potter—quite literally—just as he reached their floor. It felt like salvation, the familiar tension rising up in him, winding him up like a spring.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, Potter,” he spat angrily, pushing Potter harder than usual. Hard enough to make him tumble down onto the floor. Green eyes flashed dangerously, and Draco’s lungs finally filled properly again. Before he knew what was happening, Potter was back on his feet and up in Draco’s face. He couldn’t even take a breath to snap something nasty, when his back already hit the wall, hard. Potter had his fists in Draco’s robes and he was so _close,_ Draco had to resist the urge to do something very stupid. 

_Too close_ , he thought frantically, the tension between them crackling. He tried to shove Potter off him, but Potter was stronger, pressing him into the wall. Since when was Potter the same height as him anyway, hadn’t he always been much shorter? Draco was trapped, and he had to pull himself together to avoid melting on the spot, his eyes wandering to Potter’s slightly parted lips against his will. His hand twitched towards his wand, readying himself to hex Potter and his stupid strength into oblivion, when his eyes travelled up and met Potter’s. They looked like blazing green fire, dangerous and mesmerising. 

For a moment, time stood still. Then, against all odds, Potter kissed him. For all his desperately suppressed secret pining, Draco was woefully unprepared for the sudden, glorious feeling of Potter’s lips against his. He froze, his mind unable to fully process what was happening. Unable to process anything at all, as if something had come unstuck, allowing too many feelings at once to rush into him, overwhelming him.

Potter pulled back, looking almost as shell-shocked as Draco felt.

“Fuck,” he muttered, abruptly letting go of Draco’s robes and stepping away.

_No, wait, come back!_ Draco couldn’t get the words out, his brain still trying to recover from having completely short-circuited.

“I— sorry,” Potter stammered, before disappearing in his room so quickly Draco would’ve thought he’d apparated if he hadn’t known better.

_NO!_ Draco stumbled after him, but the door had already fallen shut, shutting him out.

“Wait,” he whispered, “don’t go.”

But Potter was gone, leaving Draco alone in the hallway once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, my poor bby Draco. He has quite a few things to figure out.  
> Oh, and if you’re curious as to what I imagine Harry to look like now, think Ben Barnes (with the slightly longer hair, like he looks when people fancast him as young Sirius).  
> So sorry to leave you hanging with such a cliffhanger, please don't kill me.  
> As you can see, the pacing is picking up a little, which is a style of writing I’m a little less familiar with, so let me know if you have any feedback on how to improve that. I hope you still enjoyed it and as always thanks for reading. <3  
> \- Z.


	10. Chocolate and Wolfsbane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus does not appreciate having his chocolate stolen, and he finally jumps over his shadow to ask for a favour.

Remus was annoyed. Beyond annoyed, actually. Taking a deep breath, he went back into the kitchen, closing the door to the pantry behind him.

“Narcissa,” he grit out, trying to stay polite. “You wouldn’t happen to know where all the chocolate in the pantry went, would you?”

The woman looked up from her reading, raising an eyebrow.

“I suspect Draco took it, he never could help his sweet tooth. Why?”

“Because it was _mine!”_ Remus snapped, unable to hold back completely. “I brought it specifically for—” He cut himself off. It wasn’t any of her business why he’d wanted it, he didn’t owe her any explanations. “Control your son, Narcissa,” he said irritably, crossing his arms.

“I apologise, I didn’t know it wasn’t supposed to be touched. I’ll tell Kreacher to get Draco his own sweets, and I’ll replace yours, of course,” Narcissa replied smoothly, taking a sip of her coffee.

Her calmness took some of the wind out of Remus’ sail and his irritation settled enough for him to feel slightly guilty for snapping at her.

“Thank you, I’m sorry for my harshness,” he mumbled. Narcissa only smiled at him and summoned Kreacher, ordering him to get various sweets for her son and several bars of chocolate for Remus. The elf returned within mere minutes, bowing deeply to Narcissa as he placed the bag on the kitchen table. Without another word, Remus snatched the chocolate bars and left, nodding to Narcissa as a goodbye.

On his way up to his room, he came across Draco, who stood in the hallway looking oddly lost. Swallowing a quip about touching other people’s food, he pushed past the boy, making his way to the fourth floor. After he’d stashed away most of the chocolate in the top drawer of his desk, he finally allowed himself to have a piece. It relaxed him instantly. He’d always had a weakness for chocolate. So much so that during their time at Hogwarts Sirius had taken to carrying a bar around with him at all times—just in case Remus wanted any at some point. Around the full moon he’d carried two. Merlin, how Remus wished they could just go back to those times, where their biggest concerns had been finishing their map and keeping Remus’ mood up during his time of the month.

The full moon. With a sigh, he glanced at the calendar again. One week to his next transformation. He had to ask Severus for the potion now if he wanted a chance at taking it on time to have full effect. Also, better now than later, because if Severus refused he’d have to find a place to go for that night. The idea of leaving Harry alone, even if just for a night and a day, unsettled Remus. While the boy could undoubtedly take care of himself, Remus was loath of potentially not being there should Harry need him. Not that Harry had taken all that many steps towards him since the revelation of his parentage. He did, however, allow Remus to talk to him.

At first, Harry had been mostly caught up on worries about Sirius’ hypothetical reaction to it all. Remus couldn’t blame him. The grief of Sirius’ death was still so fresh, it was hard to separate it from everything else that was going on. He himself still found it hard to breathe at times, remembering the nights spent with Sirius in this—his room. It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected it to be, which left him feeling an odd mix of relief and guilt. He had lost Sirius before, along with James and Lily and Peter, all of them at once. He had grieved them all, even though Peter hadn’t deserved it as he now knew. He had grieved Sirius, despite believing him to be a traitor at the time, he’d grieved him as if he had died. He had, in a way.

When Remus learned the truth two years ago, he had struggled not only to truly comprehend that Sirius was innocent, but also that he was _alive_ and free, so firmly had his mind convinced him that he was gone forever, as if he was dead. Their relationship hadn’t been the same, not by far, but they had found each other again in other ways. He had never stopped loving Sirius, and he probably never would. He had simply learnt to move on despite that love. Grieving him again now felt oddly familiar, like he simply slipped back into that resigned acceptance that his first love was gone, and that he would just continue to love him, carrying all the good of their history around with him as a gentle reminder that love existed in the first place.

Compared to himself, Sirius’ death had hit Harry much harder. It wasn’t at all surprising that the boy was overwhelmed with the entire situation between him and Severus, while he was still grieving the first father figure he’d ever had. Remus had tried his best to reassure Harry that Sirius would’ve loved him regardless, and for the most part Harry seemed to believe him. His feelings towards Severus, however, were much more complicated. It was obvious that Harry was warring with himself, conflicted by his history with Severus in contrast to the deep desire for a family.

For the first few days after they had confirmed that Severus actually was Harry’s biological father, Harry hadn’t said a word during meals and disappeared somewhere in the house in between them. Remus had made a habit to knock on his door every time he passed it, taking hourly breaks from his reading to go down to the kitchen for tea or chocolate, simply to have an excuse to do so. Harry usually only returned to his room after his daily Occlumency lessons, which seemed to be going decently at least. At the very least Harry hadn’t said much when Remus had asked him about it. It was obvious that Harry didn’t want to talk about Severus, if it could be avoided, so Remus had set himself the rule to bring Severus up once in each conversation, but no more than that. If Harry refused to talk to him because he pushed him too hard, no good would come of it anyway.

The sound of a door opening and closing pulled Remus back into the present. Severus had returned to his room. With a sigh, Remus gathered his will and pushed himself up, readying himself for a potential refusal.

His knock was answered promptly, if in a rather suspicious tone. He opened the door to Severus’ room and found the man sitting at his desk, a stack of what looked like essays in front of him.

“Grading?” he asked, as he closed the door behind him. Severus nodded and gestured for him to sit in an armchair that Remus thought he’d seen in one of the second floor bedrooms before.

He looked around in the room as he sat down. Severus had not brought much, the most prominent thing being a potions set sitting in the corner behind the door. When he turned back to Severus, he found the man looking at him expectantly. Right.

“I wanted to ask you a favour,” Remus began, glad that his voice didn’t betray how nervous he was. “The full moon is coming up, and I was hoping you would brew the Wolfsbane potion for me again. If I had the potion, I could stay here during the full moon and I’d prefer not to leave Harry for two full days. Plus my recovery time would be much longer without the potion, meaning I couldn’t really be there for him for quite a bit longer after my transformation.” He shot Severus a pleading look. “I would be very grateful for your help, Severus, for Harry’s sake.”

It wasn’t entirely true. While being there for Harry was important to him, the Wolfsbane potion would also make his transformation a thousand times more bearable than without it.

“You don’t have to convince me, I’d be happy to brew the potion for you,” Severus replied smoothly. “The only question is _where_ to brew it. I can hardly set up in the kitchen, Narcissa would have my head. I could do it in here, but there’s barely enough space, and I don’t fancy sleeping in some of these fumes produced during the process.”

Remus let out a small sigh of relief.

“I’m sure we’ll find a place for you to brew. Maybe we can clear out one of the unused bedrooms on the second floor and turn it into a lab for you. I’ll ask Harry about it.”

Severus nodded and Remus was about to get up and leave again, when Severus seemed to struggle with himself as if trying to say something, making Remus hesitate.

“How— How is he?” Severus finally asked, after a few seconds of silence.

“He’s…dealing. It’s getting better, I think.” Remus ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words to describe Harry’s state of mind. “In the beginning, he disappeared somewhere in the house almost all day—Merlin knows where, I swear I checked every room the first day. But then, after a few days, he started to wander around the house, never really staying in one place too long, although he did disappear again sometimes in between. I honestly see him in the hallway more than anywhere else, apart from when I go to his room in the evening to talk a bit.”

“Did he…say anything? About…me?” Severus asked hesitantly. He was clearly nervous, probably expecting Remus to give him confirmation that Harry despised him.

“We talk about you sometimes, although he’s never brought it up by himself as of yet. I mostly ask him about his Occlumency lessons, which are going alright from what he tells me?” He looked at Severus questioningly, hoping that the man agreed with that statement. To his relief, Severus nodded without hesitation.

“He’s doing much better, his progress is considerable.”

“That’s good to hear,” Remus said with a soft smile. There were a few beats of silence.

“He hates me, doesn’t he,” Severus stated in such a flat tone that Remus looked up at him in surprise.

“No,” he answered thoughtfully, “I don’t think he hates you. He’s confused about it all, he went through a lot in the past—well, his entire life I suppose. You know all the things that happened each year at Hogwarts, and then the Tournament and Voldemort, seeing Cedric Diggory die, the slander the Ministry put him through this past year. It’s a lot for a boy his age. And while I don’t know much about his time before Hogwarts, judging from how he speaks about his relatives—you know, calling them ’the Dursleys’ and such—he wasn’t particularly happy there either. He was very attached to Sirius, he was the first sort-of father Harry ever had. He’s grieving that more than anything else at the moment. He asked me if Sirius would hate him, if he knew.”

Severus winced at that.

“I told him no.”

“Y— You did?” Severus’ face was incredulous.

“Yes, because I don’t think Sirius would’ve hated Harry even if he’d found out he’s _Bellatrix’_ son. Sirius loved Harry because of who he was. Sure, their relationship might have started because Sirius was his godfather because James made him that, but it ultimately developed on its own.”

Severus frowned slightly, but eventually hummed in acknowledgement.

“I think he’s struggling with the idea that he could actually have a family, a real, blood-related one, not just a chosen one. He wants that more than you might think, but he’s terrified of being disappointed or worse abandoned. He doesn’t hate you, but he also doesn’t trust you yet. It will take time, Severus. It’s only been a little over a week since he learnt that he’s your son.”

Remus hoped that his smile came across as reassuring, but in reality he himself was not entirely sure time would be enough for Harry. There seemed to be so much standing between them, so much history, so much mistrust and anger. But looking at Severus, Remus could see that the man really wanted to try his best. He just hoped that Harry would once more prove how kind he was and give Severus a real chance, eventually. The boy clearly had a lot of healing to do. Who could blame him?

“I’m trying to give him that time,” Severus replied quietly. “Really, I am, but at the same time I feel like I should be trying harder, should do more. I don’t know. I feel like I should be approaching him, show him that I want to fix things, tell him why I did some of the things I did, tell him I’m sorry for them.”

“What kind of things?” Remus asked. It probably wasn’t any of his business, but his curiosity got the better of him. He could think of quite a few things Harry might be holding against Severus and he was interested to see which ones Severus thought to be worth addressing.

“Well, for one my previous treatment of him. Unfortunately, there is no better explanation than the fact that these charms made him look and act and sound exactly like James Potter, and my old resentment for his would-be father got the better of me. I have no excuse. Still, I want to explain it. Then there’s how I’ve treated his classmates, which is a bit more complicated. There are specific reasons for some of them, but there’s also the simple fact that I was always aware that the Dark Lord would eventually return and Albus would want me to return to my position as a spy. Better to have a reputation for favouring pure-blood Slytherins and bullying muggleborns and children of former Order members.”

“What about those with specific reasons?”

“Well, there’s one that stands out in that regard, Neville Longbottom. He— It could’ve been him, you know? The prophecy. The Dark Lord could’ve chosen Longbottom instead of Harry, the prophecy could’ve applied to either of them. I know I should be ashamed of thinking this way, but I can’t shake the thought that Lily could’ve lived if the Dark Lord had gone for Longbottom instead, the thought that he _should’ve_ gone for Longbottom instead.”

Severus’ black eyes were hard as he practically hissed the last words. Remus nodded empathically, he could understand the sentiment to a degree, but that didn’t mean he wished the Longbottom boy any ill. Severus took a deep breath and his eyes softened a little, the hardness replaced by something that resembled exasperation.

“And some of those Gryffindors are simply _incompetent_ with potions.”

“Hermione Granger isn’t,” Remus remarked.

“No,” Severus acknowledged with a sigh, “she isn’t. She’s infuriating in different ways, although I suppose I am treating her unfairly.” He hesitated. “She reminds me of Lily sometimes. It doesn’t help. Lily was just as talented and studious, if far less obnoxious about it than Granger. And admittedly, my dislike for Harry has biased my view of his close friends too. So you see, it’s a product of many factors, upholding my cover plays an important role, as do my personal feelings for our former classmates.”

“I think Harry will be able to forgive you, if you change your behaviour.”

“I hope so. But there are other things I’m afraid he won’t forgive so easily.”

“Such as?”

Severus hesitated again, his face twisting in pain and regret.

“The prophecy. I was the one who overheard it and brought it to the Dark Lord. It’s all my fault. Without me the Dark Lord never would’ve gone after Lily—and Harry.”

Remus sat dumbfounded at that confession. He hadn’t known that. Severus looked at him sadly.

“You have every right to be angry at me for that, to hate me for it, but please don’t make me leave. Ever since I learnt what conclusion the Dark Lord had come to upon hearing that prophecy, I’ve been trying to make up for my mistake of telling him. I swore an oath to Albus to spy and fight for the Order, to do anything it takes to take the Dark Lord down, and I’ve made good on that promise so far. I intend to keep doing so.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “After all these years, I don’t think there’s anything left that would beat the horrible things I’ve already done. I don’t have any reason to refuse anything that Albus asks of me.”

“Even if it would push Harry away from you?”

Severus paused. Remus watched his face turn contemplative as he thought the question over. He wished he could read the man’s thoughts, since his expression barely betrayed anything. A good pokerface was probably prerequisite to being a spy.

“I would ask Albus to find another way, if possible. But there are things my position demands of me that I won’t be able to avoid.”

“Like using the Unforgivables on whomever You-Know-Who wants controlled, tortured or killed. Like doing the things a Death Eater is supposed to do.”

“Yes.”

Severus had tensed considerably at Remus’ blunt recital of his cruel deeds under You-Know-Who’s command. Remus thought for a moment before responding.

“You’re right, eventually you’ll have to talk to Harry about these things. As much as I want to believe that you could overcome those difficulties, I am not him and I can’t speak for him,” Remus said. “Just, maybe allow him to warm up to you first? At least he speaks again during meals, so it _is_ getting better. He’s opening up, it just takes a while.”

“I know,” Severus answered, his face softening a little. “Thank you.”

Remus looked at him in mild confusion.

“For telling me about him, again. And for listening,” Severus explained. “I truly appreciate your willingness to include me. You really could’ve done the opposite after how I’ve treated you in the past. For which I’d also like to apologise, again. Not just for our schoolboy disputes, but also for my behaviour when we were colleagues. I shouldn’t have let my actions be guided by past grudges. It seems to be a recurring fault of mine that I’m trying to work on in the future.”

Remus smiled at him.

“I accept your apology, again, thank you. The past can be difficult to let go of, but I would wager that we have a rather good reason to do so now.” 

He leaned forward and offered his hand to Severus, who only hesitated a moment before taking it firmly. A slight shudder went through Remus as their palms met, Severus’ hand being far softer than he’d imagined it to be.

“Yes, I guess we do,” Severus replied, giving Remus a rare smile. It almost took Remus’ breath away how much a simple thing as a smile could change a face.

“Brilliant.” Remus got off his seat, turning to the door. “I’ll talk to Harry about setting up a room for you to brew in. I’m sure he won’t have any objections once I tell him it’s for the Wolfsbane potion.”

“Alright.”

“Goodbye, Severus. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“See you at dinner.”

As the door fell closed behind him, Remus couldn’t help but feel satisfied. That had gone far better than he’d expected, and he wouldn’t have to go through a normal, mind-robbing transformation. Snatching another piece of chocolate from his room, he went to find Harry. They had a potions lab to set up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I hitting you with somewhat of a filler chapter after the cliffhanger in the last one? Yes, yes I am, because I really wanted to get to Remus’ POV. Don’t murder me please.  
> This one blindsided me with unexpected Wolfstar feels and now I find myself wanting to write a Wolfstar fic. I won’t though, not before this is done, promise. Also, don’t ever mess with Remus’ chocolate. It’s IMPORTANT!  
> As always I hope you enjoyed it! God I wish Ao3 had a messaging function, cause your comments always make me so happy, I wanna continue those conversations :D  
> \- Z.


	11. Hiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is never leaving his room again, that much is clear. Subsequently, it looks like he’ll just have to allow Severus in.

Harry wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. He was pacing his room agitatedly, trying to get a hold of the jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions swirling around in his brain. He’d kissed Draco Malfoy. _Kissed_ him! Why would he _do_ that? 

_Oh god._

With a groan, he threw himself onto the bed, burying his face in the cushions. There was no way he‘d ever let anyone see him ever again. Especially not _Draco._ And since Draco was just one door away, he was literally stuck in this room forever now, because he couldn’t risk opening his door. Maybe he could teach himself to apparate, then he could at least visit the library downstairs. He had found an abundance of very interesting books there, ranging from obviously very dark magic to extensive tomes on healing. It had occupied him for hours on end, day after day. That was, until _Draco_ had somehow managed to distract him. Draco fucking Malfoy and his stupid smirk.

Harry wasn’t even sure how exactly it had happened. He‘d been ignoring Draco just as he‘d ignored the rest of his house mates, but the annoying little shit had somehow gotten under his skin again. Alright fine, he admittedly might have let him a little bit. 

The grief of Sirius’ death, combined with the shock of the onslaught of revelations about his parents had taken a toll on Harry. The first few days after they had done that ruddy spell during breakfast had been torture. Locking himself in the hidden library, Harry had spent hours trying to read without actually taking anything in. He’d ignored anyone he came across, only allowing Remus to talk to him behind closed doors in his room. He didn’t have the energy to care about anything or anyone, as he was thoroughly overwhelmed with…everything.

But then Draco—Harry still wasn’t sure why Malfoy suddenly existed so firmly as _Draco_ in his head, but he rationalised it away with the fact that “Malfoy” would be ambiguous with Narcissa in the house—had sent a hex at him in the hallway and somehow _that_ had pulled him out of the brain fog he’d been fighting for days almost immediately. Seeing Draco smirk at him, all haughty Malfoy arrogance, had grounded him in a way he hadn’t thought possible. It was annoying, simple, and familiar. Still, he hadn’t had the energy to retaliate, and where he would have picked a fight in the past, he opted to simply leave instead.

But Draco didn’t stop. No, Draco seemed to redouble his efforts after this first encounter, despite Harry’s ongoing outwards indifference. And Harry found himself appreciating it, in a twisted sort of sense. While Remus was trying to give him both space and caring attention, Narcissa had firmly retreated between invisible rules of conduct keeping a polite distance, and Sna— _Severus_ was walking on eggshells around Harry, Draco seemed to have one simple goal: To get Harry’s diverted attention back. It was oddly endearing, and it gave Harry something plain and simple to focus on. Plain, simple and distractingly attractive.

It had definitely not been the first time that Harry noticed how attractive the Slytherin Prince was, but it was the first time he actually allowed himself the thought. In the hallways of Hogwarts there were too many witnesses, and usually too much other shit going on for Harry to dwell on the heated glares he exchanged with Draco, to think about the pull he felt towards him, like a magnet. Here, he had literally only worse things to think about, so he chose Draco’s seemingly insatiable and inexplicable need for attention gladly over all the alternatives. It made him feel a little giddy, even, to think that a man like _Draco_ , who really was unfairly perfect, would go to such lengths to get his, Harry’s, attention. Not that the hexes and insults weren’t still annoying, they were just annoying _and_ distracting in a good way. 

Eventually, he’d lost his cool and retaliated, only realising later that he felt more clear and awake than he had in days. It had gone downhill quickly from there, although Harry wasn’t sure if he really considered it a negative development. The murmured insults were as venomous as ever, yet they didn’t make Harry’s blood boil in the same way as they once had. It still boiled, but differently. He found himself craving that tension, however malicious it was on the surface, just to feel that pull of… _something_ , something that made him ache for more.

When the realisation that he might have a crush on Draco hit the first time, Harry had pushed it away immediately, because that was just _ridiculous._ Draco Malfoy was attractive, yes, but he was ultimately still a right git. Harry had crushes on people like Cedric, not people like Draco. But the thought had lingered under the surface, ready to flash back up whenever Harry received a glare from those silver-grey eyes, which happened quite often at this point, since Harry had taken to switching rooms every half-hour or so, feeling distinctly restless if he didn’t.

At this rate, it had barely taken a day for the idea to take root, nagging at the back of Harry’s mind, reminding him that Draco had been there before Cedric already, too, that he’d always been drawn to him even if it had presented maliciously, and that now he was technically _helping_ him with his aggravating behaviour. He didn’t like it. Especially, because while he might be interested in Draco, Draco most certainly was not interested in him, not in that way. As far as he knew, Draco was dating Pansy Parkinson and very much not interested in men. He’d tried to ignore the little voice in his head whispering that nobody really knew about Harry’s interest in men either, that it was very well possible that Draco just hadn’t had a reason to make it public, just like himself.

During their _very_ frequent interactions in the hallway, Harry had done his utmost to just appreciate the relief Draco’s animosity granted him, willing himself to bury all other thoughts when faced with the Slytherin.

But today, Draco had been different. Angrier, rawer. The look he’d given Harry when he’d come up those stairs had been such an unlikely mix of anticipation, heat, and—oddly— _relief_ , that something in Harry had snapped, the tension between them and the sudden need to _resolve_ it overwhelming him. He hadn’t been able think straight, and before he’d realised what he was doing, he’d pressed Draco up against the wall and bloody _kissed him._

Like an _idiot._

Not a particularly great first experience kissing a guy, though he shouldn’t have expected anything better, given the previous disaster with Cho. 

He groaned into his pillow again, wishing whatever crack in the universe had messed everything up so deeply would just swallow him whole. He could never face Draco again. Their routine had been weird, but unexpectedly positive if you ignored the aching bruises the stinging hexes left, and Harry had ruined it because he just couldn’t control his fucking impulses. He’d been shocked himself, although his own surprise probably had nothing on Draco’s, if the expression on Draco’s face had been any indication. 

Yeah, he was definitely not leaving this room again. Ever. Or at least not until they went back to Hogwarts. He groaned again. _Gods,_ how would he survive Hogwarts? It wouldn’t just be impossible to fully avoid Draco, the git was bound to spread that story like wildfire, letting the whole school know that Harry had a thing for him. He was probably already writing a letter to Parkins—

“Harry?” Remus voice was accompanied by a firm knock on the door. 

Instinctively, Harry jerked up and flung a locking charm at the door. _Absolutely not_. He would not let anyone in here right now, and he’d definitely not go outside. That door was to remain _closed._

“What?” he answered, aware that he sounded harsher than Remus deserved. There was a short silence, as if Remus was rethinking what he was about to say.

“Are you alright?” And now he sounded concerned, brilliant.

“I’m fine, what is it?”

“May I come in?”

“Not now, just tell me what you want!” Harry hated himself for rejecting the man so blatantly, after everything he’d done for him. After another short silence, Remus spoke again, his voice remarkably neutral.

“I just wanted to ask if there’s a place where Severus could set up a potions lab. The full moon is in a week, and he’s agreed to brew me some Wolfsbane potion. I thought maybe we could repurpose one of the bedrooms on the second floor? You know, the ones that aren’t redone yet.”

“Sure,” Harry answered quickly, not in the mood to deal with _that_ right now. “Pick whichever room you want.”

“Alright,” Remus replied, sounding hesitant. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes! Just— Just leave me alone for a while, please?”

“Alright,” came the quiet answer, then soft steps retreated from the room. Harry let out a breath of relief, although he felt decidedly guilty for his tone. It wasn’t Remus’ fault that Harry had made a fool of himself.

Resigned, he buried his head in the pillow again, his mind caught in a loop of replaying the scene in the hallway and berating himself for it. It felt like mere minutes later when another knock sounds on his door.

“Harry, dinner is ready.” 

Narcissa. Disbelievingly, Harry checked his watch: Half past seven. He must’ve missed the chime that usually called everyone for dinner. He’d been lying around moping for more than four hours.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral this time.

“I’ll save your plate for later,” Narcissa replied.

Harry didn’t bother to argue, the woman would do what she wanted either way. Rolling onto his back, he let out a heavy sigh. If he was going to stay in his room indefinitely, he might as well be productive in here.

“Kreacher!”

With a loud pop, the elf appeared in the middle of the room, bowing deeply.

“Master has summoned Kreacher, how can Kreacher serve master?” the elf ground out. Harry sometimes tried to convince himself that he didn’t sound as resentful anymore as he once had, but he honestly couldn’t tell whether anything had changed about the elf’s attitude at all since they’d moved in.

“I would like the books on healing from the library behind the tapestry. The ones on the table, bring them here, please.”

Kreacher bowed again before he disappeared. It didn’t take him long to bring the books Harry had requested, and Harry dismissed him again. He was happier around Narcissa, and Harry was content to let her be the main person to interact with the elf. It suited everyone best.

After spreading the books on his desk, he paused. He hadn’t written to Ron and Hermione in a while. In fact, he hadn’t written to them since that first explanatory letter, which was almost three weeks ago now.

Feeling guilty, he pulled out some parchment and began to write, only to feel stuck immediately. What the hell was he supposed to tell them? He couldn’t very well break the news that he was Severus Snape’s son in a bloody _letter_. He also couldn’t tell them about Draco; even if he had felt justified in telling them that he was _here_ in the first place, he was too mortified at the situation to put that down on paper.

He opted for a vague approach, indicating that some new things had come to light that were difficult to swallow, but that he couldn’t really explain anything until they met in person again. He assured them that Remus was looking out for him, that he was safe and looking forward to seeing them. None of it was untrue, per se. It just left out all the important parts. Some small, spiteful part of him felt satisfied that they now were in his position from one year ago, not really getting any answers and having to make due with vague hints and lacking reassurances.

After sending Hedwig off with the letters, he turned his attention back to the books Kreacher had brought him. The last one he’d been reading was an old volume, beautifully bound in leather, with the title _Healing Forms and Spells._ It was quite a fascinating read, especially since the so-called “forms” turned out to be wandless spells, some without even an incantation, that required the caster to form their magic in specific patterns, before transferring that pattern to the patient. Before finding it, Harry had never even heard of wandless magic, but now thinking about it, it seemed obvious that it was possible. He wondered whether he could do normal spells wandlessly as well—he’d already started to cast wordlessly, after he had observed Remus and Narcissa cast in such a manner almost exclusively, and was improving quite quickly with it.

Nevertheless, while the book was certainly interesting, it seemed far beyond Harry’s skill-level, and he wanted to understand what he was doing, rather than just blindly learn spells. He opted for a bigger book, whose title sounded somewhat broader— _The Art of Healing—_ hoping it would provide more introductory information. He wasn’t disappointed.

Just as he was getting into his reading, however, yet another knock on his door interrupted him. Irritated by the disturbance, he whipped his head around, glaring at the door.

_“What?”_ he spat, before being able to temper his tone.

“I apologise for the disturbance, but we should have our lesson,” Sn— Severus’ voice said, with just the slightest drawl.

“Not today,” Harry replied angrily, simply wanting to be left alone so he could read this damn book and get his mind off Draco.

“We can’t just skip days,” Severus replied, and Harry thought he almost heard a plea in his voice.

_“Ugh!”_ Harry threw the book closed with a loud bang and stood, seething.

_Calm yourself,_ he reminded himself, narrowly avoiding to rip the door open, send a hex and bang it shut again. He took a deep breath, and instead walked over slowly, lifting the locking charm with a wordless flick of his wand. He didn’t open the door yet.

“I’m not coming downstairs,” he declared, tone stubborn. There was a short pause before Severus spoke again.

“If I may enter, we can hold the lesson in your room, if that would be preferable.”

It would indeed be. He’d resigned himself to the necessity of the lessons, and despite his conviction of never leaving this room again, he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that he didn’t need them anymore. His wand loosely in his hand, he pulled the door open, immediately peering beyond Severus down the hallway. No sign of Draco, good. Stepping aside to let Severus pass, he opened the door further, before quickly closing it again, replacing the locking spell.

Severus stood in the middle of his room, letting his eyes wander while pretending not to be curious. Harry almost laughed. He had to admit, since this whole…situation had kicked off, his potions teacher had certainly behaved markedly different from before. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, although he was glad that Severus hadn’t tried to get closer to him too obviously. He wasn’t sure if he could let go of the deeply ingrained mistrust he had for the man, just based on the fact that they were related by blood. After all, he was related to the Dursleys by blood too, and he certainly wouldn’t trust _them_ with anything. 

When he looked at Harry again, a look of concern had spread on Severus’ features.

“Is there a particular reason why you’re refusing to come—”

“That is none of your concern,” Harry interrupted him harshly, and Severus quickly inclined his head in apology.

Striding past him towards the sitting area, Harry once again noticed that he was now the same height as the man who had once practically towered over him, if not even a little taller. It still felt odd. He gestured for Severus to sit, taking his by now favourite armchair for himself. Severus inclined his head and sat, arranging his robes meticulously, which gave Harry time to calm his flaring irritation. 

After Harry indicated that he was ready, they began their lesson. Compared to the disaster during the last school year, these practices went extraordinarily well. Harry had made rather rapid progress with emptying his mind, now that he’d been given a proper method to do so. He almost felt that he liked it. Within minutes, he reached that relaxed, empty state of mind. In the past several days, Severus had begun to sparingly use Legilimency again, while he was in that state. For the most part he managed to keep him out, and to his pleasant surprise, Severus didn’t pry whenever he failed. Instead, he simply withdrew if he breached through Harry’s defences, never letting any memories play out fully, or any emotions surface in full force. Harry wondered how much of that was due to Severus’ own apprehension to learn something about Harry’s thoughts about _him._

It was over comparably quickly, and Harry got out of his armchair, settled at the desk, then summoned Kreacher for tea. Maybe he was actually getting used to the elf, he was certainly becoming less squeamish about actually using his services. 

His vaguely positive thoughts about the elf quickly dissipated, however, when Kreacher brought two sets, setting one up in front of Severus, who was still sitting in his armchair. That hadn’t been the idea.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence in the room. Harry hoped Severus would just do as he usually did and simply walk out. He should’ve known inviting him into his rooms would backfire somehow.

“Healing?” Severus’ voice was laced with veiled curiosity.

Cringing slightly, Harry turned to look at him, raising a questioning eyebrow. He could hardly have read any titles from back there.

“How did you figure?” He kept his voice level, not trying to encourage the man.

“I recognise two of the covers, I remember studying those books myself, once,” Severus replied, the slightest smile tugging on his lips.

_“You_ studied healing?” Harry asked incredulously. Severus nodded.

“Not extensively, but the basics. I gained some interest in it during my N.E.W.T.s, although I focused rather on the potions-related aspect of it. You can do amazing things with healing potions, some far more effective than spells. Admittedly, they often lack the flexibility of precisely cast spells, especially against curses that don’t respond to healing magic itself in the first place.”

Harry’s brows furrowed.

“Dark arts,” he assumed. Severus gave him another nod. “How do you treat such wounds then?” Harry almost berated himself for asking, but he couldn’t deny that he wanted to know.

“There are counter-curses, containment spells, some curses have to be drained from the blood—blood-replenishing potions come in handy there—and the curse-breaker department at the Ministry has their own set of spells specifically against injury inflicting dark magic.”

“But if you’re wounded by a dark spell, you wouldn’t go to the curse-breaker department, you’d go to St. Mungo’s. How do they treat such things there?”

Severus looked at him with a serious expression.

“Most Healers are proficient in a wide array of spells that can be used in a healing context, only a fraction of those spells are explicitly healing magic. It starts with simple cleansing spells to clean a wound and ends with spells that themselves border on dark arts in order to counteract certain curse damages. Healing is complex, half the spells in that book you’re reading right now aren’t per se healing magic, but they can be _used for_ healing.”

Harry absorbed that, mulling it over for himself for a bit, as Severus took a sip of tea.

“What’s the difference between ‘normal’ spells and healing magic, then?” he asked eventually. “I assumed if it is used for healing it would be healing magic.”

“It’s not entirely clear, I’m afraid. Some say that spells that have only one singular function—that of healing—are healing magic, while spells such as cleaning charms have more than one purpose and therefore don’t fall into that specific category. Others claim that healing magic has an inherent quality that other spells lack, although it has never been agreed upon what exactly that would be.” Severus paused, giving him a cautious smile. “I still have some books on this, both on healing itself as well as on the more theoretical debates surrounding it. I could bring them for you, if you’d like.”

Harry managed to keep himself from frowning, at least mostly. On one side he really wanted to get his hands on as many healing related books as possible, on the other accepting the offer felt almost like he was selling himself out, like he would have an obligation towards Severus if he took those books. An obligation to talk to him, let him into his room, his life.

As if he’d been reading Harry’s thoughts, Severus stood, still smiling.

“I will bring them either way, I have no use for them any longer. They’ll make an excellent addition to the Black library, even if you never touch them. You owe me nothing in return, neither material, nor your time or consideration. Although I would gladly spend more time with you, so we could try to salvage something of our rather unfortunate relationship so far, I would never demand it of you, and I would certainly not try to bribe you. I merely hope that you’ll find the books useful, I remember that I certainly did.”

With that, Severus inclined his head and left the room swiftly, closing the door behind him. Harry stared at it for a long while, trying to sort his thoughts. Severus was _trying_ to bridge the gap between them, that much was clear. Still, Harry couldn’t get his long-honed paranoia to stay completely quiet. Offering gifts as a method of manipulation wasn’t a particularly novel trick, even though Severus had explicitly claimed that Harry owed him nothing for it the thought was planted in Harry’s mind now. The knowledge that Severus had done something for him, so he ought to do something in return. It was infuriating, because he _wanted_ to believe that Severus was trying to truly work on their relationship, he _wanted_ to believe that maybe they could overcome the past five years, but he didn’t want to feel manipulated into it and bloody everything felt like a manipulation when it came from Snape. _Severus_.

_Ugh._

Frustrated, Harry pushed the book away from himself and got ready for bed. He was starving, having forgone dinner in order to avoid Draco. He didn’t want to call for Kreacher again, not after the elf had practically forced Severus’ company on him by extending an unspoken invitation with that tea, but leaving his room and risking to run into Draco was out of the question. Renewed embarrassment and a poorly suppressed twinge of rejection rose in him and he quickly tried to think of something else. He’d just go downstairs early. Really _really_ early, and eat the dinner Narcissa had undoubtedly saved for him under a stasis charm. Or maybe he’d just have pre-dawn breakfast, steal some snacks from the pantry and hole up in his room. It sounded like a decent plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry James King-of-Melodrama Potter is ready to spend the rest of his life in that room, but at least him and Severus are talking now… kinda. And at least he has books to keep him company, healing sure does sound fascinating.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and all your kind comments, they make my day every time I get one <3 I'm still in exam phase, but as you can see my brain won't let me stop writing either way.  
> Next chapter will be Draco again ;)  
> \- Z.


	12. Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco does his best to emulate some Gryffindor courage and confronts Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had my first exam and need to cheer myself up, so I'm posting this chapter early and hope your reactions do the cheering up. I present to you the longest chapter so far: 5663 words of Drarry crack. You’re welcome.

Draco had always been a light sleeper, but the past year of increasing pressure and anxiety due to his father’s demands and the prospect of the Mark had exacerbated this predisposition to the degree where he’d wake up from the slightest noise. It was a right pain, usually. But not tonight. Tonight, it was a blessing.

Potter hadn’t reemerged from his room for the entire rest of the day. His hopes of seeing him at dinner had proven to be futile, and Draco had been steeling himself for long days of not seeing him at all, making plans in the back of his head on how to coax the Gryffindor out of his shell again. It had worked once, it could work twice, right?

His tentative plans were overruled before the next morning by the faint noise of a door opening and closing, followed by soft steps on the stairs. Draco snapped awake, more alert than he had any right to be when it was clearly still dark outside. 

_Potter left his room_.

A quick glance at the clock told Draco it was practically still the middle of the night, barely gone four o’clock. Potter was probably starving from skipping dinner, which meant he would be going down to the kitchen now that everyone was supposed to be fast asleep. Sneaky, but not sneaky enough, not with Draco having the lightest sleep in the world. For once, he thanked Merlin for his wretched sleep quality, as he all but jumped out of the bed. He was feeling reckless—how could he not, after Potter had done _that?_ The memory made his head spin again slightly.

With one simple action, Potter had thrown all of Draco’s well-controlled, strategically placed defences overboard, opening a door inside his head to an entire world of possibilities he had forbidden himself to consider so far. Despite years of open animosity, Draco’s initial wish to befriend the formerly scrawny, then-eleven-now-fifteen year old boy had not changed one bit, he had merely accepted that it was impossible for anything positive to ever be between them. Except it apparently wasn’t. Right?

He felt a wave of anxiety well up inside him, as he snuck into the bathroom to quickly brush his teeth—just for good measure. The more contrary voices inside his head were getting louder now. It probably didn’t mean anything, there had just been so much tension between them.

 _There are other ways to resolve tension,_ he argued back, trying to keep his nerves. _He could’ve hexed me, or punched me, or virtually anything else, but he didn’t, he kissed me._

And afterwards he all but _fled_ into his room and refused to come out since. Not a particularly good sign. Actually, a rather horrible sign, given how Gryffindors were supposed to be brave and all that.

_He’s just overwhelmed, I would be fucking hiding too._

Then why was he literally getting ready to go confront Potter, who’d probably picked this ungodly hour to sneak down to the kitchen precisely to avoid _him_? 

Draco was behaving like a sodding Gryffindor, but the memory of Potter’s lips on his spurred him out of his hesitation. He could _not_ let that go. Even if the conclusion was that it had been a fluke—Merlin he hoped it wasn’t—Draco had to know. He had to be sure.

_You’re setting yourself up for another rejection, and this one is going to hurt way more than the first one._

He knew that. He knew that this time the rejection wouldn’t be a snap decision, based on mere minutes of Draco’s most arrogant behaviour. This time the rejection would be truly personal. He wasn’t sure if he would survive it to be honest.

 _Stop being dramatic,_ another, more rational voice admonished, and Draco shook himself. He had to do this—whatever “this” was, given that the entirety of his plan consisted of— Of what? Of confronting Potter in the kitchen, telling him that, yes, Draco would very much like to kiss him? No matter how reckless Draco felt, that was bravery beyond his personal limits.

Suddenly aware that he was wasting time, Draco did the least Slytherin thing possible and decided to just _go_ and figure out the plan as he went, only narrowly remembering to grab his wand for light. He all but flew down the stairs, making barely any noise, a skill honed by years of sneaking through the Manor way after his bedtime, ready to dash back to his room at the slightest hint of his parents. Upon reaching the ground floor, he slowed. He’d checked the drawing room upstairs for good measure and it had looked empty, but with Potter that didn’t necessarily mean anything, since he somehow managed to _vanish_ in there. Nevertheless, somehow Draco was sure that Potter wasn’t there, that he had gone down to the kitchen. He must have.

Slowly and without making a single sound, Draco descended the stairs down into the basement kitchen. There was light. A sense of triumph washed through him, as he rounded the corner to see Potter sitting at the table, his nose buried in a book, eating the remains of last night’s dinner. The book must’ve been riveting, for Potter didn’t even notice Draco’s arrival, though granted, he had his back to the door. 

Draco’s nerves fluttered. He had no idea how to play this. Approaching Potter directly was more than likely to end badly, and Draco wasn’t particularly good at expressing how he felt in the first place, especially when what he felt was so _much_ and so confusing. The only thing he knew was that he couldn’t go back to Potter ignoring him completely, not when everything in Draco was just yearning to get that tension between them back so they could break it again.

_This is mental. I am absolutely mental._

“Midnight snack?” he drawled, leaning against the door frame.

Potter practically flew out of his chair and whirled around, drawing his wand—where the hell had he been keeping that?—in one fluid motion. Draco narrowly kept himself from flinching, forcing his posture to stay relaxed. If Potter decided to hex him in earnest, he probably wouldn’t stand a chance either way.

“Why are you awake?” Potter’s voice was tight, but Draco saw the blush that crept up his cheeks.

He smirked.

“I’m a light sleeper. Something must’ve woken me up,” he responded nonchalantly, examining his fingernails as if there was nothing of interest going on.

Potter eyed him suspiciously, then suddenly, the blush intensified and his eyes turned frantic, darting around the room as if looking for a way out. Draco had to keep him here, somehow. Standing in the doorway was an excellent start, but simply blocking Potter’s way wouldn’t work for long. He didn’t _know_ Potter, not the way he wanted to know him, not the way he _needed_ to know him right now—he only knew how to rile him up. That dynamic, however, he was intimately familiar with. A semblance of calm washed through him, as he yielded to what he knew best.

“I could ask the same of you, but seeing as you’ve deemed the rest of us unworthy of dining with the Chosen One, I suppose the answer is obvious.” 

His tone was only slightly mocking, but it worked on Potter like a charm. The flustered, slightly helpless look vanished from those green eyes in less than a heartbeat, replaced by a flare of irritation. Still keeping his wand at the ready, Potter snatched up his book and glared at Draco.

“Get out of my way,” he hissed, green eyes flashing. Draco’s heart was beating wildly as his insides began to coil in a familiar feeling of anticipation.

“No, I don’t think so,” he quipped back, flashing Potter a grin.

“I will hex you into next week, Malfoy, if you don’t let me pass.” 

That stung, for some reason. Potter hadn’t called him _Malfoy_ since he’d arrived at Grimmauld Place. Not that Potter addressed him by name a lot in the first place, but the few times Draco had heard his first name out of Potter’s mouth, it had made his breath hitch. Anger flared up in Draco’s stomach and his eyes flashed as he drew his wand.

“I’d like to see you try, _Potter_ ,” he spat, standing up straighter in the doorway. 

They stood facing each other, both with deadly glares, wands drawn. Potter looked like wrath incarnate, magic that made Draco’s knees feel weak already swirling around him. If this escalated into a duel, they’d wake up the entire house and incur his mother’s wrath, but he couldn’t back down now, not with the tension between them rising to a point where it felt like it might unleash like lightning any second.

Potter didn’t hex him. Instead, he set his jaw angrily and tried to shove Draco out of the way. Prepared this time, Draco managed to push him back into the kitchen. When it came to physical strength, they had always been quite evenly matched—if Draco wasn’t taken by surprise that is. Draco could only hope that all those changes Potter had gone through didn’t include a sudden increase in muscle tone.

“I said _get out of my way,”_ Potter repeated, his voice laced with anger.

“And I said _no_ ,” Draco reiterated.

With a flick of his wand, Potter sent the book flying narrowly past Draco’s head.

“You need better aim than that if you plan on knocking me out the old-fashioned way,” Draco drawled, letting a smirk tug on his lips.

Potter just scowled and tried to side-step him, only to be shoved back again. His green eyes flashed dangerously and Draco knew that if he didn’t get the upper hand _now_ , it would be too late and Potter would get past him and be gone. Blindly following his first impulse, he closed the distance between them, grabbed on to Potter’s shirt, spun him around and pushed him hard into the wall next to the open door.

Their faces were only inches apart and Draco was passively aware of the odd symmetry of the situation. Potter’s eyes were scorching and Draco couldn’t look away, as the energy between them seemed to shift drastically. And Potter wasn’t fighting him.

_Not yet._

It was now or never, and suddenly, Draco could barely breathe. If there had ever been a time for some foolhardy Gryffindor courage, it was now.

_For once in your life, do the stupid, brave thing._

So he did.

Potter’s lips were unreasonably soft. And warm. And _oh gods he was kissing Harry Potter_! The exhilaration that had spread through his body was suddenly doused with panic, and he moved to pull back, but before Draco could create any distance between them, Potter placed a hand to the nape of Draco’s neck and pulled him back in, while Potter’s other arm wrapped itself around his waist, pressing Draco flush against him.

Draco’s brain short-circuited again, and he couldn’t fully stifle a soft moan, as he melted into Potter’s touch. He was only half aware of how he let go of Potter’s shirt, letting his hands travel up and twist into black hair instead. It was Potter’s turn to moan now, parting his lips just enough for Draco to take advantage and dart out his tongue cautiously. Potter responded immediately, opening his lips further with another, deeper moan, meeting Draco’s tongue with his own.

Draco felt like lightning was coursing through his veins, every single touch amplified. For what felt like a blissful eternity, there was nothing else but Potter’s hands on his waist, his neck, his jaw, in his hair, always pulling him closer, and Potter’s lips on his, Potter’s tongue dancing with his, Potter’s teeth nibbling on his lower lip.

When they finally broke apart, they were both panting heavily. Their eyes met, and the heat in Potter’s gaze, pupils blown wide, sent a shudder down Draco’s spine.

“Fuck,” Potter muttered. Again. Draco gave a breathy laugh and rested his forehead against Potter’s, trying to catch his breath. Potter smiled, ruining that endeavour somewhat, and began to run a hand up and down Draco’s back, the other still on his waist, keeping him close.

“Still want me to get out of your way?” Draco asked, his voice husky.

Potter laughed, cupping Draco’s face with his hand and peering into his eyes.

“Don’t even think about it,” he replied, before placing another, much softer kiss on Draco’s lips.

Draco’s stomach dissolved into butterflies at how gentle the touch was, as if he was fragile and worth— Something in his mind cut the thought off reflexively. He didn’t care. Potter’s hand was still on his jaw, his eyes still on him and he was smiling the most genuine smile Draco had ever seen. It made him giddy. So giddy he had to stifle a delighted laugh. Or maybe it was a disbelieving laugh, because slowly, his brain was catching up on what just happened.

He just kissed Harry Potter. And Harry Potter had kissed him back. He’d full out snogged _Harry Potter_. What the ever-loving fuck?!

His face must’ve betrayed some of his thoughts, because Potter chuckled and shook his head.

“I can’t believe that just happened.” 

As if to reassure himself, Potter leaned in again, brushing his lips lightly against Draco’s. Without thinking, Draco pushed back, needing more than just a tease, and deepened the kiss. It was just as mind-blowing as the first time, when Potter’s lips parted to allow Draco’s tongue to explore. He crowded closer, pressing Potter further into the wall.

Merlin, why hadn’t they done this years ago, instead of all the idiotic fighting?

All of a sudden, Potter’s grip on Draco’s waist tightened as he briefly broke the kiss, and before Draco could react Potter had spun them around, switching their positions and trapping Draco between himself and the wall instead. Draco’s heart must’ve skipped several beats, because when Potter’s mouth met his again, he felt decidedly dizzy.

He let his hands wander over Potter’s chest to his waist and up his back into his hair again. There was nothing else to think about, nothing that mattered except Potter and keeping him as close as possible for as long as possible. Draco gasped when he suddenly pulled away from his lips, and instead started kissing down Draco’s neck. He was dizzy again. This could kill him, probably, and he wouldn’t even mind. Potter was going to be the death of him, of that he was certain.

Without any warning, he felt teeth sink into his neck and sucked in a sharp breath.

 _“Fuck,_ Potter!” His voice was breathy and wrecked, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Trailing kisses along his neck, Potter’s lips found their way back to his, and Draco felt himself melt.

It was at least several minutes before they finally parted again, both rather out of breath. Potter’s face was flushed, lips red and slightly swollen, green eyes sparkling. He was beautiful.

For a moment, they just held each other’s gaze, then Draco was suddenly overcome with the urge to laugh. What the fuck had just happened? Why? How? How had Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter ended up in the basement kitchen of a Black town house _snogging_?

He couldn’t help himself, a little chuckle escaped his throat, quickly growing into full-out laughter. Potter joined in, and within seconds they were a giggling mess. Two peas in a pod, really. When they finally calmed down, Potter was still standing awfully close, his hands still on Draco’s hips and Draco’s still on his chest. He had to fight the urge to simply jump into the next round of snogging, reminding himself that they couldn’t just stay down here forever, and, despite the heat between them, his bare feet were getting cold on the tiled floor.

He opened his mouth to speak, but found himself at a loss of what to say. Potter just smiled and nodded, somehow seemingly reading Draco’s mind.

“We should probably get out of here, shouldn’t we?” he said softly, leaning in close enough to nudge Draco’s nose with his own. The gesture felt so incredibly soft and intimate that Draco forgot to breathe for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said shakily, “we should.”

Potter moved away from him and Draco frowned at the loss of warmth and contact, only barely keeping himself from following just to stay close. Again, Potter seemed to know exactly what Draco was thinking, as he grabbed Draco’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He sent the half-empty plate into the sink with a flick of his wand—wordlessly, Draco noted—then tugged Draco along as he moved towards the stairs.

Draco followed him without any resistance, still a little dazed from all the making out. Only when they were about to reach the third floor—their floor—did Draco’s mind snap back into attention.

_What now?_

A mild wave of anxiety rolled over him and he slowed down on the last few steps of the stairs. Potter turned back to him with a hint of confusion in his eyes, coming to a halt right at the top of the staircase, Draco two steps behind him. Draco wasn’t sure what to do or say. Would they simply separate here, each go back to their own rooms, and forget about this? He didn’t want to go to his room alone, and he definitely didn’t want to forget about this. His grip on Potter’s hand tightened, and he felt Potter give a squeeze in return, before tugging gently, coaxing Draco to leave the stairs behind, leading them both towards his own room. Draco’s heartbeat quickened a little. He’d never actually seen Potter’s room, the door was always closed, and warded whenever Potter wasn’t there himself.

He’d known obviously that Potter slept in the master bedroom, but he hadn’t expected it to be _this_ spacious. While Draco’s own room could hold a bed, closet, desk, small bookcase and an armchair, Potter’s room had a full seating area with a fireplace, an entire wall covered in books, a much larger desk directly under one of the two huge windows that flanked the luxurious looking four-poster bed, a chest of drawers and two doors, probably leading into an on-suite bathroom and a walk-in closet, like Draco’s old room at the Manor used to have.

For a second, regret filled him as he remembered the Manor. Despite his recent negative experiences there, it was his childhood home. Now he would probably never return, or at least not until the war was over, if both him and the Manor survived that.

He didn’t have time to dwell on the thought, though, since Potter had closed the door and was now coming up behind him, sneaking an arm around Draco’s waist again and pressing soft kisses to the back of his neck. For the at-least-twelfth time since finding Potter in the kitchen, Draco _melted_. He briefly wondered if Potter was using some weird sort of magic to make his insides feel like liquid, but the thought was pushed to the background by the feeling of Potter’s teeth nibbling on his ear. 

“Merlin,” Draco breathed, reaching backwards to sink his hands into black hair again. He felt Potter smile against his neck and his mind supplied the image, making his heart skip a beat again. Gods, how had he ended up here? Was this the universe’s reward for defying the Dark Lord? Because if yes, he’d defy a thousand Dark Lords if he could just keep having this, having Potter.

“Gods, Draco,” Potter murmured, his breath hot on Draco’s skin, voice low.

Suddenly, Draco had to see him _right now_ and he twisted in Potter’s grip until they were facing each other again. Potter’s pupils were blown wide, with a narrow rim of dark green that glowed like hot coals. Draco lifted a slightly shaky hand to cup Potter’s face, as his brain tried to comprehend the fact that this was happening. He was here, in Potter’s room, in Potter’s arms, with Potter saying _his name_ like a fucking incantation. He leaned forward, pressing a comparably chaste kiss to those unreasonably soft lips, and something clicked in his mind. Letting out a shaky breath as he drew back, he stared into those green eyes trying to gather his courage.

“Draco, what’s—”

 _“Harry,”_ he whispered, and those beautiful green eyes widened. 

Harry kissed him again and Draco relished it. He wasn’t sure how they’d gotten across the room, but suddenly he felt the back of his legs hitting the bed, and before he could regain his balance, Harry had pushed him further backwards, and he landed on his back, Harry following suit on top of him. A small spike of anxiety shot through Draco, momentarily piercing the cloud of swirling emotions and lust surrounding his mind. As natural as this felt, it was the first time Draco ever kissed a man. Technically, it was the first time Draco ever kissed anyone he was actually attracted to, given that Pansy definitely didn’t fall into that category.

But Harry didn’t stay on top of Draco, instead rolling over on his side, extinguishing the light of his wand, and pulling Draco close, kissing him again. It felt decidedly more intimate to be kissing in a bed, rather than standing in a kitchen, but after only a few moments, Draco’s anxiety receded. He might not be experienced, but judging from Harry’s reactions he wasn’t doing all that bad.

Time seemed to be non-existent, as they kept exploring each other, hands wandering slowly, carefully never straying too low. It was as if their minds were synced, both of them moving in the same flow.

Draco wasn’t sure how long it had been, how many times his hand had already travelled from Harry’s chest to his hips and back, when he suddenly felt skin under his fingertips where he hadn’t expected it, sending a slight shiver through him. Harry’s shirt had ridden up, exposing the narrowest band of naked skin above the seams of his pyjama bottoms. Once more, Draco’s brain was momentarily overloaded, and he didn’t think before slipping his fingers under the hem of the shirt onto Harry’s abdomen, pushing the shirt up further in the process.

Immediately, Harry tensed and his hand practically flew down to grab Draco’s. Draco froze.

 _Fuck_. 

He glanced anxiously at Harry, but the dim light of dawn was barely enough to make out Harry’s face, let alone decipher his expression. Just as he was about to say _something_ —probably, hopefully, apologise if his brain was any good—Harry brought Draco’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

“Sorry,” he murmured, playing lightly with Draco’s fingers, “it’s just, uh, I’ve never actually— Well, I’ve never been with a guy before. Or a girl, although I at least kissed a girl once, which was rather horrible to be honest, but I guess that was more due to circumstance and— I should stop talking.” Harry took a deep breath, as if to steady himself. “I—” He trailed off, seemingly lost for words, but Draco thought he understood. He mirrored Harry’s actions by pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s hand before he spoke.

“I have never kissed a guy before either. I’m sorry I went too far, I wasn’t quite thinking straight.”

Harry’s white teeth flashed even in the mostly dark room as he smiled at Draco.

“So,” Harry said, still sounding somewhat hesitant but far less than before, “you’d be alright if we took this slow?”

Draco’s chest felt like it might burst. Taking it slow meant this was going to happen again.

“Definitely,” he breathed, and Harry kissed him again, only to pull back again after a few seconds.

“I’m not sure what is more astonishing,” he said with a chuckle, “that you’re in my bed and we’re snogging, or the fact that you, Draco Malfoy, just apologised to me.”

“Hey! I am perfectly capable of apologising to people,” Draco exclaimed, but he was laughing too. 

“Sure you are, but to me?” 

Draco snorted. Harry had a point there, he would rather have died than apologise to Harry Potter for anything—until today.

“Well, as you see I can learn,” he quipped, placing a quick kiss on Harry’s nose.

Harry laughed and the sound made Draco feel giddy.

“It’s almost morning,” Harry said softly. “Narcissa will insist on breakfast.”

“Well, now that we’ve…resolved things, there shouldn’t be anything to keep you from coming downstairs anymore. Or was there another reason why you went into hiding yesterday?”

Draco wished he could see Harry’s face, as the Gryffindor huffed in mock annoyance, clearly embarrassed. He laughed softly, but was cut off by Harry suddenly pushing him onto his back, hovering above him.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” he murmured, before planting a firm kiss on Draco’s lips. Draco felt him smile and relaxed. They could still tease and quip at each other, that was good.

“What I was getting at,” Harry continued after extracting himself from Draco again, propping himself up on one elbow, the other arm resting on Draco’s chest, “is that we’re going to be down there, in the same room, along with everyone else. How much do you want them to know? Because if I’m supposed to keep my hands off you that has to be a conscious decision.”

Draco’s heart accelerated at that. He hadn’t thought that far. Merlin, he hadn’t thought about anything other than Harry in hours.

“I guess that sort of depends,” he began slowly, hoping incessantly that he wouldn’t say the wrong thing, “on what this is, exactly. I mean, we don’t have to have it all figured out! Just— What is this to you? What do you want, Harry?”

Once more he wished he could see Harry’s face, and even though the sky was definitely getting lighter outside, the room was still nearly dark. Apparently, Harry shared his desire to be able to look at each other, because he rolled away, grabbed his wand from the bedside table and lit the lamps, keeping them low enough to bathe the room in warm, orange light. After returning to his position at Draco’s side, he gave him such a serious look that Draco’s anxiety spiked again. This was the moment where Harry was going to tell him that his interest was only physical, that it was just stress-relief or something like that, but nothing serious, because why the hell would Harry Potter want to actually date Draco Malfoy.

“I’ve never been in an actual relationship before,” Harry said. “I had this weird thing with Cho, but I kinda don’t feel like that counts, given that we had one disastrous date and barely met outside the DA other than that. I’m not even sure whether I actually liked her, or if she was just pretty and I misinterpreted that as something it wasn’t because people kept telling me I fancied her because I liked looking at her. The only other person I’ve ever had a crush on was Cedric,—” 

Draco felt an unreasonable surge of jealousy at that and he hoped to Merlin it didn’t show on his face. How could he be jealous of someone who had _died_ in that wretched tournament?

“—but I never even tried to act on that. So, I honestly don’t know how any of this is supposed to work. Dating is a mystery to me, so I guess I was hoping we’d just figure that out as we go?”

He trailed off, giving Draco a somewhat sheepish look. Meanwhile Draco’s heart was doing its best to beat right out of his chest.

_Relationship. Dating. Harry Potter wants to date me._

He did his utmost to keep his expression at an acceptable level of excitement, although he wasn’t sure how successful that was.

“So, we’re dating? We’re exclusive?” Draco asked. He had to be sure. Harry’s eyebrows shot up, then a shadow of anxiety flickered over his face.

“If that’s what you want, too? I— I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—”

Draco kissed him, because _Merlin_ he was adorable when flustered.

“It’s definitely what I want,” he said firmly, holding Harry’s face between his hands. “I was worried you wouldn’t— It doesn’t matter. We want the same. I want you, nobody else, and not just a physical thing, I—” He swallowed, suddenly anxious. “I like you. A lot. I guess I wouldn’t have spent so much energy on hating you if I didn’t.”

Harry’s smile could’ve replaced the sun.

“I like you, too,” he said softly, and Draco wished he could capture that sentence out of Harry’s mouth and bottle it, just so he could keep it with him all the time. Pulling Harry down, Draco kissed him again, and for a few minutes they were both too distracted to continue their conversation.

Eventually, Harry pulled back, resting his forehead against Draco’s.

“So, back to my original question though: What do we tell the others? Your mother? Remus and Severus?” Harry asked, slightly breathless.

Draco paused this time to actually think about what Harry was asking. They’d have to tell them eventually, granted that they didn’t decide that this wasn’t working within the week, which Draco seriously doubted would happen considering their past few hours. Or the past few years, even. He liked Harry. He _really, really_ liked Harry, and after years of suppressing that it felt like bliss to suddenly be able to admit it so openly. Not only that, but to have Harry return the feeling! He seemed earnest about that and Draco felt compelled to trust him, even though such naïve trust was decidedly out of character for him. 

Technically, nothing spoke against telling their parents—because when it came down to it, that’s what Lupin and Severus were to Harry, even if things were complicated at the moment. And yet Draco didn’t particularly fancy the idea of having them all fuss over them, or worse, disapprove. He was fairly sure his mother would be delighted—once she’d swallowed the fact that her son was gay, if she hadn’t already figured—and he also didn’t really worry about Lupin being unsupportive. But Severus? Draco had no idea how Severus would react if he suddenly announced that he, his godson, was dating Harry Potter, his son. After all, Severus had been the one who had to listen to most of his ranting about “Potter and his fanclub” for the past five years. He might think Draco was playing a trick on his son, or he might be angry with Draco for wasting so much of his time cursing Harry, if he was just going to turn around and date him in the end.

No, perhaps it was better not to tell Severus until their relationship—Draco’s stomach filled with butterflies at that word—was a bit more established. At least then Draco could argue that Severus wasn’t witnessing a mere bout of teenage hormones going rampant.

“I think we shouldn’t tell them anything yet,” he said slowly. “We’ll do it eventually, of course, I don’t want us having to hide forever. But for now I kinda want to have this—us—just to ourselves for a bit. They’ll just bother us with questions or tell us we can’t close our doors if we tell them.” He smiled and gave Harry a slow kiss. “I just got you, I don’t want to let others throw in their opinions on us just yet. I want you to myself for a while.”

He winced at how possessive his words sounded right after they’d left his mouth, but Harry didn’t seem to notice. On the contrary, he beamed at Draco as if he’d just gotten a present.

“Alright,” he said, pressing a kiss on Draco’s hand that he’d been playing with. “So we’ll keep it secret, for now, and when the time is right we’ll tell them. The same goes for my friends.”

Draco frowned. He’d forgotten all about Granger and the Weasel.

“They won’t be happy,” Draco stated flatly.

“Probably not, no,” Harry conceded, “but they’ll adjust with time, I hope. It’s not like that’s the most dramatic piece of news they’ll have to adjust to.” His tone had turned bitter and Draco reached up to put a hand on his cheek.

“They won’t hate you just because Severus is your father,” he said softly, and judging from Harry’s expression he’d hit it right on the head.

Harry gave him a rather weak smile, and Draco wished he could do _something_ to ease Harry’s mind— Oh, right. He could. In one smooth motion he pushed Harry onto his back, rolled on top of him and kissed him.

“They won’t,” he insisted between kisses. “And if they do, they’re not worth your time in the first place. But they won’t. Merlin knows you lot are annoyingly attached to each other.”

“Is that jealousy I hear?” Harry grinned. 

If only he knew how right he was. There were quite a few serious conversations the two of them would have to have eventually, quite a few apologies to be made and history to be sorted out. But now was not the time for that, so Draco didn’t respond, opting for round twenty five—or something around that, Draco had lost track—of snogging instead.

It was way too soon that they heard the chiming charm his mother always sent when breakfast was ready, and they reluctantly parted.

“Time for a show I guess,” Harry said. “I suppose we’ll have to act as if nothing changed, right?”

“Right, although maybe we can try for some polite conversation, you know, to warm them up to the idea slowly.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m a terrible actor, but I’ll try my best.” 

Harry winked at him and Draco laughed. Time for a show indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at Draco being brave, all just for Harry. <3 I love my bois so much.
> 
> So, I’ve actually debated whether to play their relationship this way or not. Usually, there’s sort of that middle step of friends between the fighting and the snogging—I decided to skip that and have a true enemies-to-lovers jump, because these two are all or nothing with each other.  
> Also, unlike most fics, I wanted them to act somewhat realistic and actually talk about their relationship pretty straight away—it always strikes me as a bit weird if they avoid that for weeks to prolong the slow-burn (I at least could never do that IRL, so I won't write it like that either). Ergo: This is not a slow-burn, because I'm not a slow-burn kinda person. Yay, ADHD and zero impulse-control.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this round of feel-good Drarry, because I'm afraid it's downhill from here and that hill is steep.
> 
> \- Z.


	13. You Disappoint Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus is called to a Death Eater meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Graphic violence and torture - read at your own discretion.

The room they had repurposed as a potions lab was clouded in steam. A large counter, transfigured from a desk, stood right in the middle to be accessible from all sides. The walls were lined with shelves filled with ingredients in countless vials, jars, bowls and bottles, along with an impressive collection of finished potions, carefully labelled in Severus’ sleek writing and sorted by purpose and alphabet. 

It hadn’t taken him long to set everything up. He had a system and that system could easily be applied anywhere, so there was no need to spend a lot of time considering different ways to organise everything. Severus was pleased with the outcome, everything functioned well, and he’d been brewing the Wolfsbane potion for Remus daily for the past week. And what a week it had been. 

After Harry’s sudden relapse into hiding the previous Saturday, his mood had taken an inexplicable turn for the better on Sunday morning. So much so, that he hadn’t even questioned Severus, when he’d boldly returned to Harry’s room for their Occlumency lesson that evening, instead of calling him down to the library as before. To Severus’ surprise, Harry hadn’t just allowed him into his room, he’d also been willing to discuss healing magic again, which lead to them spending the better part of two hours going over spell-theory and even a fair amount of potions. They had done the same, albeit not as long, every evening since. 

If there had been any doubt left, that the removal of Lily’s charms had affected far more than Harry’s appearance, it was most definitely gone now. The formerly rather academically disinterested boy was absorbing information like a sponge now. And he wasn’t half bad at potions either, although Severus was grudgingly forced to admit that he probably never had been that bad at it in the first place and the main explanation for his subpar performance in the subject so far was a combination of his own bias and sabotage by the Slytherins. 

Guilt once more twisted his insides as he thought about the years he’d spent tormenting his own son, effectively wasting the boy’s potential. 

Almost as surprising as Harry’s sudden willingness to interact with Severus was the apparent ceasefire between him and Draco. The boys still seemed to avoid each other, both spending most of their days in their respective rooms—or wherever else Harry disappeared to sometimes, although those episodes were usually very short now—but they‘d stopped hexing each other when they thought nobody was looking. Whatever had prompted their newfound civility towards each other, Severus wasn’t going to risk their peace by questioning it, and he knew that Remus felt much the same despite their curiosity.

Remus and him had meanwhile taken to sit together every evening, even if only for a few minutes, to talk about things to teach Harry that could help him in the upcoming war, especially now that Remus had begun to teach Harry more defensive and offensive spells, as well as duelling techniques and apparition. At least that was the official purpose of their nightly conversations. 

In reality, it was as much about war preparations as it was Remus updating Severus about Harry’s emotional state, which had drastically improved rather suddenly. Not that he wasn’t still grieving Sirius or still processing the prophecy and Severus being his father, but he seemed noticeably happier and far less tense. Perhaps it was the duelling training with Remus that gave his mood a boost, since he was able to let off some steam there on a daily basis now.

Regardless of what caused it, Severus wasn’t going to let it go to waste. While they had been spending more time with each other, they had yet to talk about anything that related to themselves and their relationship. So far, all their conversations had been almost purely academic. Severus was hoping that this might change today, seeing as Harry had agreed to join him in the potions lab he was currently standing in, to watch Severus brew the last batch of Wolfsbane potion for Remus. 

It was a complicated thing, but it matched Harry’s main interest in potions remarkably well: A potion used to alleviate a condition of magical origin that could not be counteracted with a spell. In combination with Harry’s personal interest in the potion because it directly affected Remus, it was the perfect starting point to overcome their habitually antagonistic attitudes towards each other in this particular setting. If Severus was lucky, that would finally break the ice enough to talk about more personal issues between them that had to be addressed. 

Like the prophecy.

Severus was _not_ looking forward to that particular conversation. It would likely destroy any and all progress he’d made with getting closer to Harry, and he couldn’t even blame Harry for it. Still, he knew it had to happen sooner rather than later, if he wanted any chance at forgiveness at all. If everything went well, he would bring it up tonight.

The door to the potions lab opened and Severus turned to greet Harry, only to find himself looking at Draco instead.

“Draco? What is it?” he asked, slightly impatient.

“I was wondering whether I could join your demonstration of the Wolfsbane potion, you mentioned it at breakfast,” Draco said smoothly, flashing Severus his best winning smile.

Severus hesitated. While the boys were not fighting anymore, he wasn’t sure Harry wouldn’t just turn and leave if he found Draco already in the lab. Before he could come to a decision, Harry appeared in the door-frame. Surprisingly, his face remained impassive upon seeing Draco, and he merely nodded at the Slytherin. Severus wondered once more what had caused this drastic shift in attitude between the two.

“Do you mind Draco joining us?” he asked Harry, wanting to confirm that this wouldn’t jeopardise his attempt at a positive potions-experience for Harry. He still half expected the boy to say yes and send Draco away, but Harry just shrugged and even gave Draco a hint of a smile. Severus would have to talk to Remus about this, because there was obviously _something_ going on for Harry Potter to smile at Draco Malfoy. But that had to wait. For now, they had a potion to brew.

“Let’s begin then,” he declared, summoning the roll of parchment he had prepared the previous day.

“I’ve written down the exact steps of the brewing process here, it should help to follow the demonstration.” He handed Harry the parchment, who unrolled it immediately, eyes flying along the lines. How had Severus ever thought the boy had no potential? Had he really been that biased simply because of his memories of James Potter?

Severus tensed when Draco stepped behind Harry to get a look at the parchment, but the expected negative reaction didn’t come. Instead, Harry simply shifted to give Draco a better view, not a trace of James Potter’s competitive arrogance on his face. Draco nodded his thanks and Harry returned his attention to Severus, waiting expectantly.

Forcing all thoughts of James Potter out of his mind, Severus began his demonstration. For the following hours, his focus was on this potion alone, occasionally answering additional questions from either Draco or Harry, who both seemed to be able to follow quite well. They had just gotten to the last part of the brewing process, in which the potion had to simmer for a full hour, being stirred at the exact right intervals in the right direction, before the final ingredient would be added all at the end, when a sharp pain flared up in Severus’ left arm.

_The Dark Mark._

“Fuck,” Severus hissed before he could catch himself. 

He warily glanced over at the boys, even though he knew there was no way for them to have missed his reaction. Draco’s eyes had gone wide in fear, his stare fixed on Severus’ arm. He couldn’t blame Draco for being afraid, especially considering how narrowly he had escaped this fate himself. Harry, however, didn’t look afraid, he looked _angry_. His jaw was clenched, eyes blazing like fire and his lips drawn together into a tight line. He looked downright dangerous. Better than fear, Severus supposed.

“It’s him, isn’t it,” Harry said, voice tight.

Severus nodded, his mind racing to try and find a solution. He couldn’t abandon the potion. If he did, all the effort that had gone into brewing over the past week would be for naught. Remus _had to_ take the last dose before the full moon that night.

“It is, but I can’t go now, not before the potion is done,” he replied, just as tense.

“What happens if you don’t go? Are you risking your position?”

Severus looked up, surprised. He hadn’t expected his decision to be questioned, especially not if Remus’ chance at a mostly painless transformation was at stake.

“He won’t be pleased if I don’t show, but I’ve talked my way out of worse predicaments,” Severus responded, hoping to sound convincing enough. 

In reality, he wasn’t sure how the Dark Lord would react if he didn’t show up until after the potion was done. An hour was a lot, especially during times in which the Dark Lord knew that Severus had no permanent responsibilities at Hogwarts. He could get away with a lot during term, but far less over summer, when the Dark Lord expected him to be at his disposal at all times, like any other Death Eater. 

“You’re lying.” 

It wasn’t a question. Severus sighed and shook his head.

“There’s nothing to be done about it,” he said, stirring the potion twice and setting his wand to buzz in precisely six minutes.

“We can finish the potion,” Draco interjected. 

Severus stared at him disbelievingly, but Harry looked thoughtful.

“He’s right,” Harry agreed slowly, “we can. The instructions are all there, they’re detailed. Draco is good at potions, we’ll double check everything.”

Severus couldn’t help it, his jaw dropped. What they were proposing was ridiculous, and they were _agreeing_ on it!

“You can’t—”

“He’ll torture you,” Harry interrupted. “I’ve seen inside his mind often enough to know what happens to Death Eaters who displease him. Go, you’re already late.”

If Severus hadn’t known for a fact that the man standing in front of him was not even sixteen years old, he wouldn’t have believed it. Slowly, he nodded.

“Keep both your wands timed, just to be sure. Double check the direction every time before you stir. And do _not_ leave this room! Draco,” he shot an apologetic look at Harry, “you’re in charge.”

If Harry was bothered by the fact that Severus put Draco in charge rather than him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he simply drew his wand and set it to buzz at the exact same time as Severus’. For a moment, the simple yet elegantly effective variation of the charm made Severus pause in amazement. That wasn’t a spell taught at Hogwarts. That wasn’t even a spell Severus knew himself. He shook his head once, forcing his focus back to the situation at hand. He opened his mouth to say something, but Harry cut him off.

_“Go!_ You’re wasting time.”

Definitely not the impression of a fifteen year old boy. Without answering again, Severus apparated straight out of Grimmauld Place and into Malfoy Manor.

“Ah, Severus, how good of you to join us.” The high, cold voice chilled Severus to the bone.

“Forgive me, my lord, I—”

He never managed to finish his sentence, as he was hit with the Cruciatus curse. Dropping to his knees, he tried not to scream, but it was hard to tell whether he succeeded or not. 

After a long while, the excruciating pain receded, and he could breathe again. As quickly as he could, he composed himself, knelt before the Dark Lord, bowed his head and then took his usual place in the Death Eater ranks, directly to the Dark Lord’s right. If that was all the punishment he was going to get, he’d gotten of far easier than expected.

By the time he was able to focus on the meeting, the Dark Lord was already in the middle of a rant. Something had gone wrong, some mission inside the Ministry failed. Severus suppressed a groan. It had only been a month since Harry had derailed the Dark Lord’s plans and his mood had been downright foul ever since. 

This wasn’t going to be pretty.

To say that Severus was right with that assessment would’ve been an understatement. The Dark Lord was mildly insane on his best days, but now he barely showed any traces of sanity, as he raved about pure-blood superiority, how the Ministry had to be cleansed and how he would soon destroy Albus Dumbledore, so nobody would stand in the way of his rule over the wizarding world. It wasn’t like he had never said those things before, in fact they were all fairly routine raves from the Dark Lord—no, it was the way he ranted, the frantic undertone in his voice, the glee when he spoke of rounding up muggleborns to rid the wizarding society of their impurity, that gave Severus cold shivers. 

It had never been this bad before. Even in spouting his hateful vitriol, the Dark Lord usually kept his composure to a degree that he appeared almost bored. There was none of that left now. Something about that mission must’ve been important enough to unhinge him completely.

And then he was ranting about Harry Potter. Again, none of the things he spat were new, but to Severus they felt like fresh hot iron against cool unprotected skin. Before, it had been the Dark Lord raving about Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and whom Severus did not care for beyond the fact that he seemed to be essential to winning this war. Now it was the Dark Lord swearing gruesome death upon Harry Potter, _his son_. A son he barely knew yet, and already had begun to love somehow, not merely for the fact that he was his blood, but for his intellect when discussing healing magic, his kindness towards the Malfoys, his goodness that was apparent even when he hid from the world simply to avoid exploding in anger. How had he been so _blind_ before? 

Severus found himself cursing Lily for her talent with charms. Maybe he would’ve seen, would’ve found out earlier, would’ve had more time with Harry before a full-blown war was upon them.

In front of him, several Death Eaters were tortured for their failures at the Ministry, but Severus barely paid them any mind, absorbed in his own thoughts and worries, about Harry, about the potion, about how they would ever manage to defeat this monster he called master. 

When the Dark Lord called upon him, he didn’t react immediately. A mistake.

_“Severus.”_

His name was barely more than a hiss, but he heard it the second time. He felt his jaw clench. He’d be paying for that soon enough.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Is there anything to report regarding our old friend, Dumbledore?” the Dark Lord asked coolly, his voice sending a shiver down Severus’ spine.

“No, my lord, the old man has made no progress with rallying forces to oppose you. Even with the Ministry now acknowledging your return, his efforts to gather supporters against you are futile.”

The Dark Lord sneered.

“You must know something of his plans, Severus. Tell me, give me something _valuable_ , something I can use to destroy the fool, to lure him and his Golden Boy out of hiding and into the open. You see, I was planning to use the Malfoy boy gain access to the school, where the old fool would be vulnerable, but the Malfoys have abandoned their home,” he rambled, half laughing. “I suppose we should be grateful, it is wonderful to have a new permanent residence that is not soiled by the stench of Muggles.”

He gave a cold laugh.

“Unfortunately, my new residence comes at the price of having an opening into Hogwarts and an assassin for that fool Dumbledore. But perhaps you could be tasked with this. Yes, I think that’s what we shall do.”

“My lord,” Severus began, his heart in his throat, “if I aid a raid of Hogwarts, my position as your spy will be uncovered for sure. Surely you don’t wish to lose that advantage?”

“There won’t be any need for a spy inside Hogwarts if Albus Dumbledore is dead.”

“I cannot hope to defeat Albus Dumbledore one-on-one,” Severus argued quietly, hoping incessantly that the Dark Lord wouldn’t actually give him an order he’d be forced to refuse—which would indeed blow his cover as a spy.

“Mmh, yes,” the Dark Lord mused, tapping his lips in contemplation. “Perhaps you are right, it wouldn’t do to risk you completely. I shall find another way to get into Hogwarts. Nevertheless, you disappoint me, Severus.”

Once again, pain seared through his body as the Dark Lord sent another Cruciatus into his chest.

“So—” More pain. “—distracted!”

Severus was vaguely aware that he’d sunk to his knees again when the pain subsided for a little while. Through a hazy veil, he heard the Dark Lord dismiss the largest part of his followers, before turning back to him. This wouldn’t end well, he could feel it already.

“Severus, Severus,” the Dark Lord said, almost mockingly, shaking his head. “Whatever is wrong with you today? You’re usually so…attentive. What is distracting you? Legilimens!”

Suppressing the icy flare of panic, Severus brought up his mental shields and reinforced them double and triple. He felt the wriggling presence of something foul at the edge of his mind, worming its way inside. Taking deep breaths, he allowed it in. He knew what to do, he’d done it countless times. It didn’t matter that suddenly there was so much more at stake, that he suddenly had a secret more important than his own life.

With practiced ease, he presented a complex mind to the Dark Lord, full with secrets, memories and fear of discovery of said secrets. It was all a fabrication, constantly updated to accomodate what the Dark Lord would want or need to see, should he ever decide to take a peak into Severus’ mind—like now. Severus showed him Dumbledore, complaining about difficulties to rally forces for the Order—a real memory, but taken out of context. He showed him complex potions he experimented with—again, real memories, but meaningless. It went on like this for a while, the Dark Lord’s probing and prodding reaching deeper into Severus’ mind, but still contained in his carefully constructed set of misleading truths. It was bound to be over soon, or so Severus hoped at least, as he felt his concentration slowly slip.

An unbidden memory flashed through his mind, bright, vivid and absolutely not Dark Lord approved. 

_Lily._

Severus recoiled, slamming his shields up harder, but it was too late. He had already seen, had already caught the tail end of the memory, holding it, dragging it back up through all of Severus’ defences and replaying it in full. Severus pushed down his fear, continuously reinforcing his other shields. He couldn’t let him see anything else. He couldn’t let him see— He just couldn’t.

“Severus, Severus.” The words were cold, laced with mock pity. “A mudblood? You defiled yourself with such filth and never deigned to tell me? Tsk, tsk, you disappoint me.”

The Dark Lord retreated from his mind and Severus relaxed marginally. It was a fleeting relief, because the next thing he knew was that he was thrown against the wall and bound by black ropes shooting from the Dark Lord’s wand. The look of wild insanity in those red eyes promised nothing good, and suddenly Severus found himself afraid for his life.

Usually, his position would ensure his safety. He was too valuable to risk losing, but in this state the Dark Lord wouldn’t care, wouldn’t even consider Severus’ strategic value before shooting whatever curse first came to mind at him.

He screamed when the first Cruciatus curse hit, pulling against his restraints. They might as well have been made from steel, so unyieldingly did they hold him in place. The spell ended, and Severus tried to catch his breath. His vision was blurry, but he could make out enough to see the Dark Lord move away, then return with something shiny in his hands.

_Bellatrix’ daggers,_ he realised. Fuck. Those daggers were cursed to prevent regular healing potions and spells from affecting the resulting wounds.

He hissed in pain as he felt the first blade slash across his face. It burned as if someone had poured acid onto his skin. The second cut came only seconds later on his other cheek. If he hadn’t been in so much pain he would’ve laughed. Of course, even in his crazed state of mind torture had to be symmetrical with the Dark Lord.

Each cut drew a scream, until Severus’ voice began to give out and screams diminished to hoarse yelps. He felt blood trickle down his legs, thought he heard it dripping to the floor. His arms were completely slashed open at this point, as were his thighs and the sides of his torso. Oddly, the Dark Lord had left the centre of his chest alone. Severus wasn’t sure whether he should be happy or concerned about that. So far, at least it appeared that he would be able to survive this.

The Dark Lord stepped back, throwing the daggers to the ground, and Severus sagged in relief. The feeling didn’t last, as the next Cruciatus hit him square in the chest, making him scream again despite his burning throat.

“I don’t like secrets, Severus,” the Dark Lord whispered and Severus blinked. When had he come so close? Had he blacked out? He couldn’t afford to black out, couldn’t risk to lower his mental defences for even a second. He forced himself back into awareness, trying to ignore the intensifying pain as it hit him again with full force without any haze to protect his senses.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” he bit out, hoping he sounded apologetic instead of angry and desperate. If he could reach his wand, he could activate the emergency portkey in his pocket that would bring him back to Grimmauld Place. But he was still bound, and the Dark Lord didn’t seem to be done with him yet.

“Yes, I imagine you are,” the Dark Lord responded, stepping away from Severus and lifting his wand. Severus steeled himself for another Cruciatus but it didn’t come. What came was worse.

“Sectumsempra!” 

Severus heard himself scream again as his own spell tore open his chest, leaving deep gashes spilling blood. The bonds around his wrists disappeared and he collapsed into a crumpled heap on the floor. Everything was pain.

He was vaguely aware of steps coming closer, then his head was yanked up by a hand in his hair.

“Never keep secrets from me again,” the Dark Lord hissed, before pushing him back onto the ground hard enough for his head to hit the stone floor with a bang.

Severus was dizzy, lost in a haze of pure pain, barely able to see or hear, with a constant loud ringing in his ears.

_The portkey,_ a voice deep in his mind supplied. Yes, the portkey. He had to activate the portkey. With tremendous effort he closed his fingers around his wand, reached into his pocket and pulled out the small pin that would bring him home.

A tap of his wand, and the world spun away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry. 😬
> 
> So, this is the first time I’ve ever attempted to write anything like this—torture, I mean. Please let me know what you think of it!
> 
> \- Z.
> 
> Edit 20.1.2021 - slight adjustment of dialogue and tone, no content changes


	14. Bloodbath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus arrives back at Grimmauld Place cut open and half-dead. Can they save his life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Graphic injuries

Harry and Draco both stood motionless, staring at the spot from which Severus had disapparated. Taking a deep breath, Harry shook himself, trying to stop his mind from going into overdrive. It would be alright, Severus did this all the time. It was his whole purpose as a spy to go and face Voldemort when he called for his Death Eaters.

“So you know,” Draco said softly, pulling Harry out of his musings.

Harry turned to look at him, frowning slightly.

“Know what?”

“That he’s a Death Eater.” 

Draco looked anxious and Harry reached out to him reflexively, running a soothing hand up his arm.

“He’s a spy, but yes,” he replied, moving closer to Draco. 

Now that they were alone, neither of them was trying too hard to resist the gravitational pull towards the other. Draco leaned into his touch and Harry smiled. The past week had been quite the revelation. Things between them were still fresh, raw. But good. They hadn’t talked about everything yet, not by a long shot, but there had been much needed conversations regarding the most recent events before Harry had disappeared from Hogwarts. 

For one, Draco had apologised for his involvement with Umbridge—especially the part where he had gotten Harry banned from Quidditch—and explained how his father had demanded that he support her, since she was a means to an end to get rid of Dumbledore from inside Hogwarts. He had apologised for quite many things, all of them so far directly involving Harry. In turn, Harry had apologised for his part in their previous mutual animosity. But they hadn’t gotten to the root of it yet. They hadn’t discussed Ron or Hermione, or the refused handshake back when they were eleven. Harry hadn’t told him anything about his past with the Dursleys yet, and Draco had only disclosed little bits and pieces of his own childhood so far. They certainly hadn’t discussed anything regarding Severus or Remus or Lucius Malfoy and the fact that Harry had landed Draco’s father in Azkaban. Although, judging from how Draco spoke about his father’s demands regarding Umbridge and his dislike of Voldemort, Harry hoped that Draco wasn’t too upset about Harry’s involvement in his father’s arrest. They hadn’t talked about the war, or Voldemort, or Harry’s new nickname in the press. Harry hadn’t told him about the prophecy yet.

Admittedly, they could’ve talked more if they hadn’t been so busy snogging, but while still trying to prevent anyone from noticing what was going on between them, their time together was already significantly limited and they obviously had to make use of every second to satiate their hunger for each other. Between daily apparition practice followed by duels with Remus in the garden and nightly conversations in his room, daily Occlumency sessions and discussions about healing magic with Severus, as well as the meals Narcissa insisted on, there was barely any time for them to sneak into each other’s rooms without risk of being detected.

“And you trust that?” Draco sounded doubtful and Harry frowned again.

“Dumbledore trusts him. He hasn’t given me any real reason to distrust his loyalty so far, apart from being a right prick as a teacher up until now. You don’t?”

“It’s weird, because I trust him as a person, but I’ve always known him as a Death Eater, so—”

Their wands buzzed and they jumped, focusing on the potion again. Draco checked Severus’ instructions twice, before stirring the potion once counter-clockwise.

“Eight minutes,” he declared, setting his wand to buzz after the time was up. 

Harry nodded and followed his example. For a moment, they both watched the potion simmer quietly. Harry’s thoughts wandered back to Severus. Why had Voldemort called for his followers? Death Eater meetings before lunch time couldn’t be a good sign.

“I guess if it comes down to it I do trust him,” Draco said, bringing Harry back to their interrupted conversation. “I just didn’t expect that you would, given your history and all that.”

Harry considered that. It was true, he hadn’t trusted Severus for the longest time. But after Moody turning out to be Barty Crouch, he didn’t really trust anyone he didn’t know, and with Severus he could at least be sure that he was who he said he was. At least he _knew_ the man bowed to Voldemort, spy or no spy. Now that the whole… _father_ -thing was mixed into everything, he wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about that knowledge. He supposed it was necessary, but he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of worry. They had gotten closer over the past week. Partially, it had happened because Harry just really appreciated their discussions about healing magic and Severus’ calm, reassuring insistance that Harry would do well with it. Partially, though, the sudden shift between them was due to Harry’s own shift in attitude. After all, if he was able to forgive Draco Malfoy after five years of vicious rivalry, how could he deny his _father_ —the word still felt odd in his mind—a chance at forgiveness?

“It’s complicated,” he said simply, his eyes still fixed on the potion.

Draco just nodded, stepping closer to Harry and nuzzling into his neck. Harry felt some of his tension drain out of him as he leaned into the touch with a sigh. Odd, how Draco Malfoy of all people would be the one who could make him relax with a simple touch. He suppressed the urge to laugh. 

Merlin, how had they ended up like this? Just a month ago they’d been at each other’s throat, ready to literally fight each other in Umbridge’s office. Now they stood in Severus’ improvised potions lab at Grimmauld Place—Harry’s own house!—watching a simmering potion that was way too complicated for their skill-level, cuddling. _Cuddling!_ It was absurd.

Then again, everything had been absurd since the fight at the Ministry. Once more the thought that maybe they had accidentally messed with some old, weird magic inside the Department of Mysteries flitted through Harry’s head. Maybe they had actually fucked up reality somehow and that’s why everything was suddenly upside down.

Their wands buzzed in unison, making Draco jump a little. After quickly checking the instructions and stirring the potion, they lapsed back into silence. It took four more rounds of stirring and waiting before the potion was ready for the final ingredient according to Severus’ parchment. Harry watched mildly anxious as Draco poured the myrrh into the cauldron, causing the potion to emit a hissing sound and give off faint blue smoke. After stirring the precise number of times indicated by the instructions, Draco turned the burner off and decanted the finished potion.

They both stood motionless for an instant, then shared a slightly disbelieving glance before simultaneously letting out a shaky laugh.

“It looks right,” Draco said, carefully eyeing the potion.

Harry had to take his word for it. Even though his understanding of potions had improved immensely since he’d begun doing his own studies for the subject in the Black library and Severus wasn’t being utterly unpleasant about it anymore, he didn’t want to pretend that he was on Draco’s level just yet. The Slytherin had been top of their class most of the time, only occasionally beaten by Hermione.

“Come on,” Harry said, trying to get rid of the sudden anxiety welling up in him that they might have made a mistake and ruined Remus’ potion, which would have disastrous consequences. 

A full goblet of the freshly brewed potion in his hands, Harry hurried up the stairs and knocked on Remus’ door.

“Yes?”

“Your potion is done,” Harry said, as he pushed open the door and entered the room.

Remus glanced up at him looking surprised.

“Thank you, Harry. Where’s Severus?”

Harry’s face darkened.

“His Mark burned about an hour ago, he had to leave,” he replied, watching concern settle over Remus’ features. “Draco and I finished the potion, but it was almost done anyway and we were really careful. Severus left very detailed instructions and Draco is a genius at potions, he couldn’t have messed it up.”

Remus smiled, though the concern did not leave his eyes.

“I’m sure the potion is just fine, I am merely worried about Severus. It’s rather unconventional for You-Know-Who to have Death Eater meetings in the middle of the day.”

Harry nodded, trying to ignore the spike of worry that flared in his chest again.

“I thought the same. I guess we’ll find out what it was about when Severus returns.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Remus said thoughtfully.

A familiar chime announced that it was time for lunch and they headed downstairs. After their meal, Harry settled in the drawing room with his now-favourite book about healing: _Healing Forms and Spells_. While he certainly had more to learn about the basics, his fascination with the wandless forms made it near-impossible to force himself to focus on anything else. He’d been practicing with some of them and, to his surprise, had found them to be rather intuitive to work with. He’d even gone so far as to deliberately let Remus hit him with a knock-back jinx during one of their duels, just so he could try them on the resulting bruises. All these little trials had been a success so far, and Harry was rather proud of himself. He’d never had a useful talent before, unless his uncanny ability to survive Voldemort counted as a talent.

He was reading about a form to readjust dislocated joints, when suddenly the wards _burned_ a mere second before a loud crash sounded from the entrance hall.

 _Severus_.

Harry was out of his chair in less than a heartbeat and already practically flying down the stairs when he heard Narcissa scream. The sight before him could’ve come straight out of a nightmare. Severus was sprawled on the floor, covered in blood, his robes ripped to shreds revealing countless deep cuts all over his arms, thighs, sides and chest. Harry’s heart turned to ice. 

_No!_ _This can’t be happening! He can’t be dying, not when I just found him! Not when we just started to sort of like each other! He can’t—_

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to snap out of his thoughts. Narcissa was casting stasis charms over Severus’ wounds, slowing the bleeding only marginally. Harry hurried to her side, wanting to help, but she shook her head.

“Clear the table in the dining room!” she commanded, before lifting Severus into the air with a levitation charm. 

Harry dashed ahead, almost toppling over Draco who came running down the stairs as well. Within seconds, the table was clear and Harry cast a strong _Scourgify_ , along with one of the sterilisation spells from _Art of Healing_ over the surface. Narcissa levitated Severus into the room, gently lowering him on the table, Draco hovering anxiously at her side. Despite the stasis charms, blood was still spilling freely from the deep gashes in Severus’ chest.

 _Curse wounds,_ Harry thought, remembering what he’d read just two days ago about spells designed to increase the chance of lethal blood-loss. At least it seemed that only the ones in the centre of Severus’ chest were of that nature, while the cuts on his arms, legs and sides were bleeding noticeably less strongly.

“I can’t do this alone,” Narcissa said through clenched teeth. “Get Remus.”

Draco looked like he was about to dash upstairs, but Harry held him back. He wordlessly conjured his Patronus, causing Draco’s jaw to drop.

“Severus is injured, dining room,” was all Harry said before sending the stag off and turning his attention back to the table.

Narcissa had taken to casting basic healing spells over the cuts, with very little success. While some of the wounds seemed to at least close a little, the biggest ones across his chest were utterly unaffected. Blood started to drip from the edge of the table and pooled on the floor, soaking Harry’s socks. 

“Draco, there are Blood-Replenishing potions in Severus’ lab, get them,” he said, not wanting to risk shattering the vials by summoning them from the second floor. 

Draco nodded and was gone in a heartbeat. Only a few seconds later, Remus appeared in the door-frame and froze momentarily, as he took in the scene before him. He snapped out of it after barely an instant, hurrying to Narcissa’s side and drawing his wand. Harry joined them on the other side of the table, trailing his wand along the wounds on Severus’ right arm and murmuring the most common spells to heal cuts. Like Narcissa, he had little success. A glance over to Remus confirmed that neither of them was doing any better. At this rate, Severus would die.

Draco came running back into the room, several vials of potions hovering before him, and joined the table next to Harry. Without so much as a second of hesitation, Harry snatched a blue potion he knew to be labelled Blood-Replenisher and poured it into Severus’ mouth, making him swallow with a charm. Immediately, the blood spilling from the chest wounds increased.

“Fuck,” Harry cursed, turning back to inspect the small arsenal of potions Draco had brought.

 _There._ Healing potion. Basic, but effective for most ailments from cuts to fevers. He forced that one down Severus’ throat too and watched the cuts closely. To his dismay, it barely had more effect than the spells, although it did slow down the bleeding from the smaller cuts at least. They stayed open all the same, and Harry’s mind began to race, looking for an alternative. The smaller cuts must’ve been made with a spell too, albeit a different one than the big ones on Severus’ chest, or maybe with a cursed blade.

The image of Bellatrix playing with two silver daggers as she stalked towards them in the Hall of Prophecy flashed through Harry’s mind. Of course Bellatrix would have cursed daggers, but why would she be allowed to harm Severus? He ranked above her as far as Harry knew.

“This isn’t working, we need a Healer! We have to bring him to St. Mungos,” said Remus, sounding rather frantic, and bringing Harry’s focus back to Severus.

“No!” Narcissa objected vehemently. “They’ll take one look at his Dark Mark and send him straight to Azkaban, or worse, they simply refuse treatment and let him die right there.”

Harry’s insides churned. Surely Healers were sworn to help any patient, right? But even if they were, Narcissa was right. Not even Dumbledore could save Severus from Azkaban if they brought him to the hospital with wounds that were clearly inflicted by dark magic practically screaming _Voldemort_ , begging the question why he’d been with the madman in the first place. They had to figure this out themselves. If only he knew what curse had caused the big slashes, he might find a way to break it _somehow._

He was aware that it was a desperate, unrealistic thought, but he couldn’t just give up. Dozens of spells and forms he’d read about since finding the healing books in the hidden library raced through his brain, jumbling over each other. It felt like someone had put his thoughts in a blender. He needed clarity. He needed the book.

Throwing his arm out towards the door, he flung a silent Accio towards the drawing room upstairs, never ceasing to pour soft healing spells into Severus’ arm. Draco’s puzzled look told him that his behaviour must look odd from the outside, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care right now. With a swoosh, the book came flying into his outstretched hand and Draco jumped, staring wide-eyed at Harry as if he’d suddenly grown another head.

“Can you take over? Just keep reinforcing the stasis charms,” he told Draco, then stepped away and slammed the book onto a chair, crouching in front of it.

Forms, forms, spells, forms— There! The pattern was complicated, far more complicated than anything else Harry had tried so far, but its purpose seemed to fit their needs. Curse cleanser. It involved runes, because _of course it did_. Once more, Harry cursed himself for his poor choice of electives back in third year. Frantically, he memorised the pattern, tracing the runes over and over on his thigh. He’d need to draw them directly on Severus’ skin.

“Take his clothes off,” he ordered. “I need to be able to cast skin to skin.”

Despite the somewhat incredulous look on her face, Narcissa didn’t hesitate to comply and began to unbutton Severus’ robes, while Harry continued to visualise the form he was about to cast. It was fairly straightforward. The form was designed to rid wounds of curse-traces that could interfere with conventional healing spells, given that the curse was located in the wound itself and not deeper inside the body. Not a healing form per se, but perfect for their current issue—that the cuts wouldn’t heal because they held residual dark magic.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” Narcissa muttered suddenly and gave up on the buttons, flicking her wand irritably and vanishing Severus’ clothes down to his pants.

Remus drew in a sharp breath and Draco paled significantly at the now unobstructed sight of Severus’ wounds. It looked abhorrent. There was barely an inch of unmarred skin left on his arms and sides, his thighs only marginally better. Harry’s head was swimming and fear threatened to paralyse him. _No._ He couldn’t afford to lose his cool now.

“Draco, hold this for me?” 

He pushed the book into Draco’s hands, directing him to stand so he could see it while drawing the runes. His hands were shaking, there was no room for errors here. Harry took a deep breath to calm his racing heart, then put one hand on Severus’ chest, while beginning to draw runes with the other. His magic responded immediately, parts of it flowing along the lines he traced, leaving glowing symbols behind as he focused on replicating the pattern of the form in his mind. Warmth spread through his body, pooling in his palms as he finished the last rune. He felt himself thrumming with magic, his whole body filled to the brim with it. In any other situation, it would’ve been exhilarating. Taking another deep breath, he willed his magic into taking the form he wanted. For some reason he felt no more than a mild sense of surprise when it complied fluently, as if it wasn’t any harder than breathing or blinking.

“Inprecatio Expurgo!”

He released the pattern into Severus’ chest, feeling the wave of power leave through his palms as it washed over Severus’ skin. The bleeding slowed immediately. Without wasting a second, Harry picked up his wand again and repeated the healing charms he’d tried earlier. The cut he was casting on closed. 

A wave of relief crashed into him and he lifted his head to grin at the others. Their expressions were probably the most comical thing possible given the circumstances. All three of them were gaping at him, frozen. Harry was tempted to ask why, but a sudden groan from Severus brought his attention back to the man on the table and spurred Narcissa and Remus back into action. Draco returned to Harry’s side, looking at him anxiously, as Harry continued to work down Severus’ right arm before moving on to the sides of his torso. The spell was working now for these comparably small cuts, but the bigger wounds were still bleeding. At a look from Harry, Draco, who was the only one among them who didn’t know any healing spells at all, resumed reinforcing the stasis charms on those to give them time to deal with the rest first.

Severus groaned again and his eyes fluttered. Harry summoned another healing and Blood-Replenishing potion, feeding him both. Unfocused black eyes were staring back at him.

“Can you hear me?” Harry asked, his voice tight.

Severus tried to speak, but it took him several attempts to even make a sound. It was good enough in Harry’s book.

“Do you know what curse he used? Is there a way to counteract it?”

He knew he was probably overwhelming the man, but he needed something to work with. Severus struggled to keep his eyes open, his breathing shallow.

“I think I’ve seen this curse before,” Narcissa said, “but I know neither the incantation, nor the counter-curse. I do remember, however, that it’s not a widely known spell if it is the one I think it is. It— I think it was Severus’ own invention.”

Harry looked at her sharply. Severus’ own invention? Before his mind could go down the rabbit hole of what that implied, he forced himself to file that away for later. He finished healing the last of the smaller cuts on Severus’ right side, then turned to look at his father again.

“Is it your spell?” he asked, keeping his voice as calm as he could. Somehow he had ended up taking the lead in this entire ordeal and he wasn’t entirely sure when it had happened.

Severus nodded.

“Is there a counter-spell?”

Another nod.

“I need you to tell me the incantation, otherwise I have to go look for worse-suited alternatives which could take ages.”

Severus opened his mouth, but his words were too quiet to understand. Harry leaned closer, barely catching the whispered incantation.

“Vulnera Sanentur?” he asked, looking for confirmation.

Severus nodded and Harry turned his attention to the deep gashes in his chest. As he lifted his wand, Severus’ hand closed around his wrist, tugging at it.

“What?”

He held up three fingers. Harry frowned.

“Three. Three times?”

Another nod.

“Vulnera Sanentur, three times,” Harry surmised, getting a confirmative nod from Severus.

The spell was remarkably effective, not only closing the wound but also pulling at least some of the blood back into Severus’ body. Within mere minutes, there was nothing but fine, white scars left of the horrible gashes. When Harry was satisfied, he looked back at Severus’ face, only to see that his eyes were closed again and— Was he still breathing?

“Severus?” 

Harry grasped the man’s hand as panic flared up inside him. He didn’t get a reaction. His own chest constricted, making it nearly impossible to breathe. He couldn’t die now, not after all this.

“Severus!” he called again, his voice slightly frantic. “Severus! No, you _can’t_ — Dad! _Rennervate!”_

Severus drew a sharp breath and his eyes fluttered open. Relief crashed into Harry as black eyes found his. His vision went slightly blurry as he blinked back tears, still gripping Severus’ hand tightly.

“Dad,” he whispered.

Severus smiled as he closed his eyes again, giving Harry’s hand a weak squeeze. It was enough. Suddenly exhausted, Harry stepped back and collapsed into a chair. In the blink of an eye, Draco was crouching at his side, anxiously peering into his face, his hand on Harry’s cheek.

“I’m fine,” Harry mumbled, giving Draco’s hand a reassuring squeeze before dropping it into his lap. “Just tired.”

“I bet you are,” Draco replied, but his tone lacked its usual haughtiness. “That was amazing, though. That spell you did, I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Healing form, got it from a book,” Harry murmured, his words slurring together slightly. 

_Merlin,_ he was tired. Looking up at the table, he saw Narcissa and Remus cleaning the blood off Severus, who seemed to be unconscious again. Or maybe asleep. Hard to tell when Harry’s head was ringing so loudly.

“You look like you’re going to faint any second, Potter,” Draco drawled, some colour returning to his face. “Wait a moment.”

With typical Malfoy elegance, he got to his feet and shuffled through the potions scattered across the edge of the table, before returning with a small green vial.

“Here, that should help with magical exhaustion, and probably also just regular exhaustion.”

Harry chuckled and took the potion without arguing. The effect was immediate and the ringing in his ears receded a little. He felt stronger again.

“Thanks,” he said, giving Draco a smile which caused a blush to spread on his pale cheeks. Nobody should be allowed to be that adorable. With some effort, Harry pushed himself out of the chair again and returned to the table. Severus’ eyes were closed, his breathing steady and deep now. He’d be fine.

“He’ll be fine,” Remus said, echoing Harry’s thoughts. “We gave him another healing potion and a vial of Dreamless Sleep. We’ll bring him upstairs, you should go rest, Harry. That was an awful lot of magic you used for that spell, whatever it was.”

“I’m fine, I took a restorative potion,” Harry responded, keeping his eyes on Severus.

Remus eyed him sceptically, but didn’t argue. They worked quietly for a few minutes until Severus was completely free of blood, before Narcissa levitated him slowly up the stairs into his room. Harry stopped in the doorway as she settled him on the bed, spelling clean pyjamas on him and covering him with a blanket. He looked so peaceful now, not a trace of the bloodbath left. Narcissa nudged Harry out of the room and closed the door behind her.

“He’ll sleep for a while, but he’ll be as good as new once he wakes up. You did wonderfully, Harry. You saved his life most likely, we wouldn’t have been able to treat any of those wounds without your spell.” She gave him a warm smile, before unexpectedly pulling him into a hug. She felt much softer than he’d expected. “Let’s go downstairs and have something to eat, you need to get some nutrients in you after all this.”

Her tone conveyed that arguing would be pointless, so Harry followed her without complaint. Maybe an afternoon snack wasn’t a bad idea— Harry realised that he had no idea how late it actually was. It felt like hours had passed since Severus had crashed into the entrance hall, but in reality he knew it couldn’t have been more than one, if even. But how late had it been when he’d returned? He cast a quick _Tempus_ only to see that it was almost six o’clock already. Practically dinner time.

 _Only a few hours until the full moon,_ he remembered, stifling a groan. It was going to be a very long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, there’s the D-word.  
> Thank Merlin Harry developed a fascination for healing, right? It’s quite difficult to write the feeling I imagine when doing this sort of magic, but I hope it’s somewhat tangible.  
>   
> I've also decided to try doing NaNoWriMo, meaning there will hopefully be quite a bit of progress to this story. I'll probably be posting updates on either TikTok or Twitter (@Zaharya_V for both; it's more likely to be TikTok than twitter tbh).  
> Anyway, as always thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!  
> \- Z.


	15. Hushed Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry visits Remus during the full moon, airing some of his worries.

Remus had to resist the urge to go and check on the man sleeping in the next room. Severus’ blood-soaked return had shaken them all up quite a bit, Harry especially. He hadn’t spoken much during dinner, although Remus had been glad to see that his appetite was undeterred. Afterwards, he had insisted on staying with Remus, as if something terrible would happen if he left his side. Remus couldn’t help the slight feeling of guilt nagging away at him. His condition was making everything harder again.

With a sigh, he checked the time. Just a little over eight o’clock. The moon would be up soon, and if Harry’s earlier insistence was any indication, only strong wards would keep the boy from potentially risking his neck just to keep Remus company. Even though Remus trusted the Wolfsbane potion—even the dose that the boys had finalised—for the most part, there was always a risk that something went wrong. He had come close to hurting Harry once before, he didn’t intend to do it again.

A shudder went through him as he remembered that night. The night he had found Sirius again. The night Peter had escaped. All because Remus had forgotten his damned potion. Or maybe it wouldn’t have changed a thing if he had taken it, there was no way to tell for sure.

With a shake of his head, Remus pushed the memories away and began warding his door. He had convinced Harry to go and take a bath, to unwind a little after the horrors of trying to heal Severus, by pointing out that he could smell the blood on his clothes. Still, he was fairly certain Harry would be back any minute. Once the wards were in place, Remus stripped out of his clothes and settled on a mattress on the floor, which he’d transfigured from an old armchair from downstairs, nibbling on a piece of chocolate.

He could already feel his body tensing, felt the wolf in him stir, ready to emerge at the first sight of the moon. It only took a couple more minutes for the transformation to start. While his bones didn’t technically _break_ , it certainly didn’t feel any more pleasant than if they had. It was agonising, although the Wolfsbane potion helped tremendously. Without it, he wouldn’t just be in pain, he’d also be losing conscious control over his mind—and the wolf in him did not appreciate pain at all. He tried to focus on other things. Sounds coming from downstairs, scents from outside. He was grateful when it was finally over and he rolled himself up tightly on the mattress.

It would be a long night. Full moon nights always were for him, but at least this time it would be long because of boredom, not because of the irrepressible urge to hunt and kill.

He began to recall memories to entertain himself, some recent, but most from his time at Hogwarts. James and Sirius bickering. McGonagall berating them for one of their pranks. Working on the Marauder’s Map. He was just sinking into the comfort of his own mind, when a knock sounded on his door.

“Remus?” 

Harry sounded incredibly tired and Remus wished he had his human voice so he could send the stubborn boy to bed for some decent sleep. He settled for a low growl instead.

“I’m guessing you transformed, then,” Harry went on. “And I’m guessing that since you’re not making a racket and trying to get out of your room, that the potion is doing its job. Which means that you can’t _really_ be mad at me if I break those wards and come sit with you.”

_I can barely believe that this boy isn’t James’ son,_ Remus thought exasperated. He was certainly emulating James’ most reckless tendencies well enough. Then again, Lily hadn’t been any less reckless when it came to supporting her friends. Another growl escaped him, as he felt something prodding at his wards.

“Harry, are you insane?! There’s a _werewolf_ in there!” Draco’s voice hissed, sounding surprisingly worried. And angry. Remus turned his ears towards the door, intrigued. He had noticed that the boys had begun to treat each other more civilly, but Draco _worrying_ about Harry? Now that he thought about it, he imagined to remember that Draco had reacted almost immediately when Harry had almost collapsed after healing Severus earlier. Remus had been so focused on the man that he had barely payed any attention to Draco.

“Relax, Draco,” Harry was saying outside the door, “it’s Remus. And the potion is working, he knows who he is, he would never hurt me.”

Affection and exasperation mingled at those words. Harry had way too much trust in Remus. While that may be justified on normal days, during the full moon one couldn’t be too careful around a werewolf. Remus hoped incessantly that Draco could sway Harry’s stubborn mind, even though he knew it was unlikely. Lily had always been impossible to sway, too, once she’d set her mind to something.

“You can’t be serious, tell me you’re not going in there! What if the potion’s effect ebbs out too soon? What if he suddenly goes feral and rips you to shreds? Harry, _please!”_

_Yes, Harry, listen to him,_ Remus thought, as if he could will Harry to hear him. As if he could will Harry to _listen_ if he heard him.

“The potion won’t suddenly stop working, if we had messed it up it wouldn’t have worked in the first place. I’ll ward the door again from the inside if you’re so worried, you can even ward it from the outside if you want.”

_Idiot child._

“You know full well that that’s not what I meant! Don’t go in there!”

Remus felt his wards dissolve. Damn, Harry was _good_ at that, it hadn’t taken him half as long as it should have. Merlin have mercy on him trying to parent that boy. The door opened slowly and Harry’s black-haired head peaked inside. He caught Remus’ eyes and a smile spread on his face. If he had been able to, Remus would’ve rolled his eyes. He also would’ve had to fight pretty hard to suppress a smile. Merlin have mercy on him. Opening the door further, Harry moved to slip inside the room, only to be held back by a pale hand around his wrist. 

_“Harry!”_ Draco’s voice had jumped an octave higher. The usually so composed boy looked downright terrified, eyes darting back and forth between Harry and Remus.

“It’s gonna be _fine,_ Draco, I promise. Go back downstairs.”

“I won’t just leave you here alone with a werewolf!”

“I am not the one who’ll have to explain to your mother—”

“Don’t bring my mother into this! Just come downstairs with me, he’s just fine by himself, see?”

Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to face Draco, putting his hands around the other boy’s face. _Interesting,_ Remus thought. Obviously, he had missed quite a few things that had changed between the two, far beyond superficial civility.

“Draco,” Harry said softly, a smile that could’ve charmed a Dementor on his face.

_“Harry.”_

Draco’s resolve was beyond impressive in the face of Harry’s charm on full blast, so much so that Remus found himself reevaluating his opinion of the Slytherin. He’d perceived him as a rather spoiled, entitled child, with a perfect pure-blood mask and little inclination to show any concern for others or raw emotions. Seeing him now, worry etched deeply on his usually impassive face, he seemed like an entirely different person. _Interesting,_ Remus thought again.

“I promise I’ll be okay, Draco,” Harry whispered. “You won’t lose me, alright?” 

If it hadn’t been for his enhanced senses, Remus wouldn’t have heard. Definitely more than superficial civility. Remus watched as Draco warred with himself until he eventually conceded, looking resigned.

“Fine,” he breathed. “But leave the door unwarded, I don’t wanna have to break you out first if something goes wrong.”

Harry laughed and nodded, before quickly slipping into the room, his eyes on Draco until the door fell closed. Only then did he turn to look at Remus’ wolf form again. Doing his best impression of Padfoot, Remus cocked his head questioningly, hoping that Harry would understand what he wanted to know. He didn’t. Or maybe he did and just wanted to avoid answering, because he said nothing at all, he merely chuckled as he settled down on Remus’ bed.

For a while, they simply sat silently, Remus on his makeshift wolf-bed, Harry cross-legged on the actual bed, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said suddenly, breaking the silence. “I’m not exactly sure what to say, I’m afraid I’m not very exciting company.”

Remus growled, pulling back his ears.

“Alright, alright,” Harry laughed. “Still, I’m sorry. For being here. I just know that Sirius and James used to be with you during full moons, and I didn’t want to leave you all by yourself. If you want me to leave, I can go. Just, er, I don’t know, tap your paw on the floor if you want me to go?”

He wished he could’ve laughed, it was such a Harry thing to say. He didn’t tap his paw and slowly, a smile spread on Harry’s face.

“Okay, cool.”

Harry fell silent again for a few minutes, staring out of the window. Remus kept his eyes on Harry’s face, as myriad emotions flitted across it, most of them distinctly negative. Once again he wished he could take some of the burdens Harry was carrying onto himself. Some of the grief, some of the confusion, some of the ridiculous responsibilities. He wondered what Harry was thinking, wishing he could at least ask. But Harry answered his unspoken question as if he’d read Remus’ mind.

“I thought he was dead,” he said softly, sounding much younger than Remus had ever heard him. “For a moment, I thought he was dead. I didn’t expect it to feel so horrible. But I can’t lose anyone else, Remus, I just can’t. Even after all our crappy history, despite every single bad thing that happened between us, I can’t lose him. How fucked up is that? Just because we’re related by blood? As if shared blood had any emotional value.” He scoffed. “If it did, my life should’ve been extremely different. No, shared blood means _nothing.”_

Remus pulled back his ears, worried by how venomous Harry’s words were. What was he talking about? Remus knew that Harry’s life with Lily’s sister hadn’t been very loving, but this sounded like there was more to the story. Much more. But Harry wasn’t dwelling on it, and Remus would just have to remember to ask him when he was human again.

“Still, somehow something changed. Maybe it’s because he’s suddenly not acting like such a git anymore—but then again the only reason he’s changed his attitude is because I’m his son, so wouldn’t that bring us right back to the start? That it’s all because we’re bound by blood? I still think that’s bullshit. It’s just so _frustrating_ , because I don’t know what to think. I’m kinda growing to like him, and I guess I’ve forgiven him for most of our history, but I’m not sure if any of it is happening for the right reasons. Or what the right reasons even are. And it all confuses me to no end, but I thought I had time to figure it out, except he almost _died_ today and suddenly it feels like there’s no time at all. We’re at war. I’m the fucking Chosen One, even though I never wanted to be, and everyone expects me to go and kill off Voldemort like the bloody hero that they think I am, that I’m supposed to be.” 

He sneered, shaking his head. 

“They’re all just cowards. Putting all the responsibility on one person to have an excuse to look away and hide, staying safe with their families. Convenient, to task an orphan, someone with no family of his own to protect. Except I _do_ have people to protect, who cares that we’re not related by blood. Hermione, the Weasleys, you, Dr—”

Harry cut himself off. Remus gave a soft growl, tilting his head. That’s how important Draco was? Important enough to make that list? He really had to pay better attention if he had missed that.

“There’s just _so much_. So much of everything, and I have no choice but to keep going, all the time. An hour after Sirius died, Dumbledore threw that fucking prophecy at me. An hour! Sirius dies, I’m told that I’m the Chosen One and the next thing I know my dad is not my dad, I’m living with the Malfoys and then suddenly Severus fucking Snape is my father, and before I can even begin to wrap my head around that, _he’s_ covered in blood and half-dead!”

Harry pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, rolling himself into a tight ball.

“I want a break,” he whispered. “I just want everything to stop for a goddamn minute.”

Remus could practically feel his heart being ripped apart, as he watched silent tears spilling from Harry’s eyes. His cub. Remus got to his feet and padded over to the bed to softly nudge the side of Harry’s head. Even on all fours, he was on eye-level with the black-haired boy sitting curled up on the bed. When Harry finally looked up at him, his green eyes were filled with so much sadness and desperation that Remus had to restrain himself to stifle a loud howl.

_My cub, my little one, I swear I will protect you at all costs. You are mine, my cub, mine to protect._ _Nobody will hurt you while I still have life in me._

The wolf in him snarled, angry at everyone and everything that had ever caused _his cub_ any harm, but Remus forced down the impulse to growl and howl and _hunt_. Harry needed him, and he didn’t need an angry werewolf on a vengeance trip. He needed comfort. So, instead of giving in to his anger, Remus nudged Harry again, before jumping up onto the bed and curling around him.

Harry laughed softly, and it soothed Remus down to the core. Without even a trace of fear in his eyes, his cub snuggled into him as if he was nothing but a big dog, rather than a monster.

“Thanks, Remus,” Harry breathed, closing his eyes.

_Anything for you, cub,_ Remus replied in his head. He hoped that Harry knew that. He’d have to show him better, erase any doubt Harry could ever have that Remus wouldn’t give everything for him. He might have failed Lily, when he allowed her son to be raised by her cold-hearted sister, but he would not fail her again. He would not fail Sirius by letting his godson go unprotected. And most importantly, he would not fail Harry.

Meanwhile, Harry’s breathing had evened out, the boy must’ve been absolutely exhausted to fall asleep so quickly. He looked so much younger in his sleep. _No,_ Remus corrected, _he looks like he’s fifteen in his sleep, the way it should be when he’s awake._ But circumstances were cruel and as a result, Harry would look ten years older again as soon as he opened his eyes, set his jaw and readied himself to face another day. It really wasn’t fair.

For a long time, Remus simply listened to Harry breathe, content to lie there and serve as a living pillow if it made his cub feel safe. Then, he heard soft voices from downstairs. If he hadn’t been in his wolf form, he wouldn’t have understood a single word, but as it was he was easily able to follow the dispute going on down below.

“You will absolutely not go up there!”

“I _have to_ , mother, what if I messed up the potion? He could be in danger, do you want him to be shredded?”

“Of course not, Draco, but that’s his own responsibility, not yours! Or perhaps it would be Severus’ responsibility, but he is hardly available right now. Either way, you are staying here.”

“I am going to get Harry.”

“Draco!”

Soft steps sounded from the staircase, before halting again abruptly.

“Mother! Let me go, you don’t understand.”

“Actually, I think I understand perfectly,” Narcissa countered. “Did you really think I wouldn’t see it when my own son falls in love?”

_Love?!_ Remus’ head jerked up, causing Harry to shift and grumble in his sleep. Downstairs, he could hear Draco splutter.

“I— That— I’m not— _Mother!”_

“Oh please, I’ve known you your entire life, Draco. Ever since you met Harry at Hogwarts five years ago, all you talked about was Potter here, Potter there.”

“I— We hated each other!”

“Of course you did,” Narcissa allowed with an exasperated sigh. “And now you don’t anymore, splendid. I see the way you look at him, the way he looks at you, you’re both completely in over your heads.”

“I’m not—”

“It’s a _good_ thing, Draco. I am happy for you, truly, although I do wish you would’ve told me. You know I would never judge you, you’re my son and I will always stand with you, no matter what.”

“I— Uh—” Draco seemed to be lost for words.

“That’s not the point, though. The point is, I do understand why you want to go up there, truly I do. You’re worried, I understand that, but please, Draco, think for a second. Do you really think Harry would appreciate you potentially interrupting a private conversation? Do you think he appreciates you being so openly afraid of someone he respects so deeply? Not that I don’t share your concern—as much as I like Remus, lycanthropy is not a thing to be taken lightly. But Harry trusts him and we shouldn’t question that. You can’t force him to leave Remus if he doesn’t want to.”

The silence that followed seemed to stretch indefinitely. When Draco spoke eventually, his voice was smaller, almost pleading.

“Can I just _check_ on him?”

Narcissa laughed softly, and she must’ve signalled her permission somehow, because there were once again steps coming up the stairs, without halting this time, until they stopped right in front of Remus’ room. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, very slowly, the door was pushed open, revealing the silhouette of a noticeably tense Draco Malfoy. Remus heard him inhale sharply, as he took in the scene before him, with Harry curled up against Remus’ side, the large wolf wrapped around him protectively.

Draco didn’t retreat immediately as Remus had expected, given his obvious fear of werewolves. Instead he just stood there, staring at them, as if transfixed by what he saw. Harry shifted again, letting out a soft, sleepy noise, and Remus could virtually watch Draco melt. 

Narcissa was right then, the boy was in love. Or at least on the way to it. It made perfect sense for him to worry about Harry being in a room with a werewolf. Merlin how Remus wished he could be rid of it, could be normal, able to provide Harry with proper support, untainted by his condition and everything that came with it. But he couldn’t, so Draco would just have to learn to adapt if he really had feelings for Harry.

Hoping it wouldn’t scare the boy right off, Remus let out a soft whine, sounding more like a dog than a wolf. Draco flinched, but didn’t flee. He looked up at Remus, who tried his best to convey through his eyes that he understood, that it was alright. He flicked his eyes down to Harry, then back at Draco, then back to Harry. Draco’s eyes widened as understanding dawned of what Remus was trying to tell him.

_Come here,_ Remus thought, wishing once again he could just _speak._

But Draco apparently didn’t need words, as he slowly edged closer to the bed, carefully keeping his distance. Remus smiled inwardly at how much courage it must cost Draco to even enter the room, all for Harry. He nudged the bedcover trapped under them with his snout, flicking his eyes to Harry again. Draco understood. With a whispered spell, he conjured another blanket, before cautiously creeping closer until he was able to cover Harry with it. He looked like he was about to hurry away, when Harry let out a soft sigh, snuggling into the blanket and deeper into Remus’ side, as a smile spread on his sleeping face. Draco froze, his face speaking louder than any words ever could.

_Oh cub, you really did a number on him, didn’t you,_ Remus thought sardonically. If parenting Harry Potter was going to be the challenge of a lifetime, how must being with him feel like?

Slowly, so as to avoid spooking Draco, Remus lifted his head to nudge Draco’s arm. It was as much as he could do right now to show the boy that he was accepted here. Draco’s eyes widened as they met Remus’, but he didn’t shy back in fear. Instead, he remained for another moment, his gaze travelling back to Harry, then he turned and left much more swiftly than he had entered.

Remus watched as the door closed behind him, lost in thought. His cub really had a lot going on, that much was clear. But perhaps not all of it was negative, and perhaps in the end the good could outweigh the bad. He would certainly do his best to make it so.

His thoughts continued to swirl as he put his head down on the bed, waiting for the night to pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Harry really never gets a break, does he? And Draco just can’t help worrying, the poor little bean. Thank Merlin Narcissa is a fkn QUEEN and knows exactly how her son ticks.
> 
> I feel like I have to point out that the rating of this fic changed from Mature to Explicit. Not because of this chapter, obviously, but because of one much further down the line that I got done yesterday.  
> As always thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!  
> \- Z.


	16. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus wakes again and finally has a long-overdue conversation with Harry.

The first thing Severus became aware of as he woke up was the thrumming pain in his skull. It took considerable effort to force his eyes open. He was in his own bed. That was a good start, even though he couldn’t remember getting there. In fact, his memory of what exactly had happened was rather hazy in general.

On the nightstand he found several vials of healing potions and smiled. They had raided his own lab to save him, good. At least everyone seemed to be comfortable enough with him to take from his stores without hesitation when needed. He downed a Pain-Relieving potion and let out a grateful sigh as the throbbing in his head subsided. To be safe, he also drank an all-round healing drought, just in case any injuries had been overlooked. It wasn’t unlikely to fail to see something minor after being confronted with injuries like the ones he had sustained yesterday. He wasn’t sure how bad it had been, but he knew it must’ve been major, given how muddled his memory was.

Moving slowly, he got off the bed, carefully steadying himself on the wall. He hadn’t eaten in a while, and a wave of dizziness washed over him as he stood up. When it had subsided, he noticed that he was wearing fresh pyjamas. His robes must’ve been in shreds, which meant that— He felt a blush creep up his neck. They’d probably had to undress him to treat his wounds.

 _Can’t be changed, at least you’re alive,_ he thought wryly. 

There were worse things than four people seeing him naked, even if two of them were his son and his godson. Things like bleeding to death. He pulled on his dressing gown over his pyjama and made his way downstairs, hoping to find at least one of the four in the kitchen.

He found all of them, sitting quietly around the table, each immersed in their own reading, seemingly just about to finish their breakfast. Upon seeing him enter, Narcissa immediately got out of her chair.

“Severus! You’re awake,” she exclaimed, ushering him to sit down before drawing her wand and checking him over. A mother through and through. “You must be starving, we’ve put some breakfast away for you because we weren’t sure when you’d wake.”

“Thank you,” he replied quietly, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with her fussing.

“How are you feeling?” Remus asked once Severus had a full plate of breakfast in front of him, eyeing him worriedly, despite looking rather worn out himself. Right, it had been the full moon. He took a bite of toast and warmth spread through his stomach, spurring him into eating faster.

“I’m sore, tired and rather hungry, but otherwise I feel surprisingly well. What happened? My memory is somewhat…foggy.” 

For some reason, Remus, Narcissa and Draco all turned to Harry, looking at him expectantly. Harry gave a small sigh, then launched into a retelling of the events of the previous day.

“You collapsed in the entrance hall, blood-soaked. Narcissa got to you first and cast some stasis charms on your wounds—I have no idea how many there were, but too many to count. We brought you into the dining hall and tried some healing spells, but none of them worked. Neither did your healing potions. So we figured that—”

 _“Harry_ figured,” Draco interrupted, earning himself a mild glare from Harry.

“Fine, whatever, _I_ figured that the wounds must be cursed, even if not all of them in the same way. There were spells to treat cursed wounds in one of those books I was reading, so I summoned it and started looking for something that might work to remove the residual magic from the cuts. I found a form that did pretty much that, so I tried it and it worked.”

“Harry,” Draco admonished. 

Severus gave him a bewildered look, especially when Harry reacted by rolling his eyes dramatically.

“What am I missing?” he asked, confused.

Harry just glared at Draco, but both Narcissa and Remus chuckled softly.

“He’s making it sound like some simple little _Episkey_ , but it definitely wasn’t,” Draco explained, looking somewhat irritated. “It was wandless magic, bound with runes he drew onto your chest, and quite a powerful spell—”

“Form.”

“— _fine_ , a powerful _form,_ too.”

Severus raised an eyebrow at the two, who were glaring at each other in a way he had never seen between them before.

“A rune-bound, wandless…form?” he asked hesitantly. Harry had told him about those so-called healing forms he’d found, but he had no experience at all in that area and had assumed that it would require a much more advanced understanding of healing than Harry currently possessed.

“Yes,” Narcissa cut in, before either Harry or Draco could speak up. “He asked me to remove your clothing to cast skin to skin, so I vanished your robes. They were so cut up that they wouldn’t have been unsalvageable anyway.”

Severus frowned at that, but Remus drew his attention with a light touch to his arm and shook his head.

“Only the robes, don’t worry.”

Severus relaxed. Not that bad then. He motioned Narcissa to continue.

“Harry started to draw runes then, and— Well, honestly I’m not sure what he did, but when he spoke the incantation there was a wave of magic rippling all over you—”

 _“And_ us, _and_ the entire room,” Draco muttered hotly under his breath.

“—and the smaller wounds practically stopped bleeding. Harry then tried another healing charm, the same that hadn’t had any effect before, and the cuts closed without any issue. So, we started healing those smaller ones first, because we were able to now, but the bigger ones on your chest were still bleeding quite badly. You woke up at that point, so Harry asked you what curse the Dark Lord used and whether there was a counter-curse.” Narcissa swallowed and cast a hesitant glance at Harry. “I told him then that I might have seen the curse before, and that it might be your own spell. After some prodding you managed to give him the incantation for the counter-curse and Harry healed you up. After that, Remus and I gave you a couple of potions, including Dreamless Sleep, and started to clean all the blood off. Then I brought you to bed and let you sleep, and here we are now.”

Severus sat back, speechless. Harry had practically healed him by himself? With _wandless magic?_ How had he even still had any power left to counter the Sectumsempra after casting a spell strong enough to cleanse all those cursed cuts? How had he not completely exhausted his magical core doing all this? For a long moment, Severus was at a loss for words, simply staring at the boy sitting in front of him with crossed arms, stubbornly looking down, as if he wanted to deny Narcissa’s words.

“Thank you,” Severus said eventually, which finally got Harry to lift his head again. “You saved my life.”

Harry blinked at him, looking taken aback.

“Uh…you’re welcome, I guess.”

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes, earning himself another glare from Harry. Just what was going on between those two?

“Severus,” Remus said softly, distracting him from the two boys. “What did You-Know-Who do to you? What happened at that meeting?”

Severus closed his eyes and shuddered as memories flooded his senses. His nerve-endings were tingling, a hollow echo of the Cruciatus he’d endured. He steeled himself to relive it all, but before he could even take a breath, Narcissa spoke up.

“No, not in front of the boys,” she declared firmly.

Harry glared at her, while Draco scoffed.

“You can’t be serious, mother,” he said haughtily.

“Oh, I am quite serious. It’s bad enough you had to see and deal with the aftermath, I won’t tolerate you listening to graphic descriptions of how these wounds were inflicted.”

“But—”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are not of age yet, I am your mother and you will not argue with me!” Without raising her voice, Narcissa somehow managed to convey an immense amount of authority.

Draco snapped his mouth shut, glaring daggers at his mother, but Narcissa looked entirely unbothered.

“Fine!” Draco spat angrily. “Come on, Harry.”

Grabbing Harry’s hand, Draco got up from the table and marched out of the kitchen, tugging a mildly confused but smiling Harry along behind him. Severus stared after them, incredulously.

“What—”

He trailed off, unsure what he even wanted to ask. His expression must’ve been comical, for both Remus and Narcissa began to laugh and it took them a few moments to calm down again.

“Seems like Draco had enough of hiding,” Narcissa said eventually, still chuckling.

“Hiding?” Severus gaped at her. “Do you mean to tell me that those two are— That Draco and Harry— _Those two?!”_

Remus nodded, laughing again.

“It can’t be,” Severus refused resolutely.

“You said the same thing about Harry being your son, Severus,” Remus countered with a grin. 

“I would have noticed that,” Severus insisted.

“Yes,” Narcissa teased, “it was rather obvious, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Remus cut in, giving Narcissa an exasperated look. “I didn’t see it either. Not until last night, when Draco _insisted_ to check on Harry who was keeping me company while I was transformed.”

“Draco willingly went near a transformed werewolf?! He’s _terrified_ of werewolves!”

“Apparently Harry’s well-being was more important,” Narcissa replied, smiling widely now.

Severus was almost stunned speechless. Almost.

“And Harry?” he asked weakly.

“Seems smitten, as far as I can tell,” Narcissa replied with a shrug. “Or did you hear him complain when Draco all but dragged him out of here, while he clearly had been about to argue with me to stay?”

Severus shook his head and tried to wrap his head around the thought of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter _together_. Dear Merlin help them all.

“Frankly, I’m fairly sure Draco was your only chance at getting Harry to leave,” Remus commented. “He’s usually rather adamant about wanting to hear such things for himself.”

“Which brings us back to the reason why I sent them away in the first place.” Narcissa looked over at Severus. “What happened yesterday?”

All at once, the mood in the room shifted. Severus took a few deep breaths before he began to speak. He recounted his late arrival, which warranted his first punishment, the failed mission and the Dark Lord’s resulting bad mood. He told them about how the other Death Eaters had been tortured before the Dark Lord had turned to him. At that point, he shot a cautious glance at Narcissa.

“He has taken over the Manor, Narcissa, permanently. He even crooned about how he was almost grateful that you disappeared because it practically gifted him a new residence, albeit at the price of not having Draco in his service to gain him entrance into Hogwarts. I’m sorry.” 

Narcissa shook her head.

“It was to be expected, we left nothing of importance behind and the house-elves can take care of themselves. They’ll avoid him, if they haven’t already left for one of the other Malfoy estates. But please, go on.”

Severus frowned, but decided not to push the matter. He went on to describe the rest of the meeting, how the Dark Lord had invaded his mind and seen his memory of Lily, and how angry that had made him. Memories of the day before assaulted him, as he recounted what the Dark Lord had done with Bellatrix’ daggers, and eventually with Severus’ own spell.

“Then he released me and, after telling me that I should never keep secrets from him again and smashing my head into the floor, left. I managed to activate my portkey, which brought me back here—although I don’t even remember arriving.”

For a moment, there was total silence in the kitchen.

“You could’ve died,” Narcissa breathed, her face white as a sheet. Severus was prepared for this sort of argument.

“But I didn’t, because I was prepared with a portkey to bring me back here, where I knew I would receive help.”

“But—”

“Narcissa, this is what I do. That’s the risk I take as a spy, there’s no way around it.”

She didn’t argue further, but he saw the way her jaw clenched in displeasure. She’d get over it, eventually. When he glanced over at Remus, he found the man frowning at him, clearly worried. Surely he wouldn’t have to explain the importance of his position to a member of the Order? True enough, Remus’ features smoothed over after barely more than a moment, and he gave Severus a small smile.

“Let’s just be glad it all turned out alright,” he said, as he pulled a bar of chocolate from his pocket, broke off a piece and began to nibble on it. “Will you have to report this to Albus?”

“Yes, I’ll probably pay him a visit later today.”

Remus nodded in acknowledgement and silence settled over the room again. Narcissa soon rose from the table and began to prepare lunch, calling Kreacher to help her. Severus barely noticed them, however, lost in his own thoughts. His mind kept swirling with hazy images of Harry’s face, the feeling of strong, pure magic pouring over him, driving out the burning pain in his body. He thought he could remember Harry’s voice, calling his name. He wished his memory was clearer.

“Are you alright?” Remus asked softly, startling Severus back into the present.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he responded automatically, but as soon as the words were out, he hesitated. “Actually, I was thinking about what Harry and Narcissa told earlier, about how Harry healed me. I feel like I remember… _something_ , but I can not grasp it. As if it’d all become clear if someone just told me what I’m trying to remember.”

Remus gave him a thoughtful look that was far more telling than any words would’ve been.

“Something happened, something Harry and Narcissa didn’t mention before.” 

It wasn’t a question. One look into Remus’ face confirmed Severus’ intuition, there was something he didn’t remember, something important.

“Tell me,” Severus demanded, before catching himself and quickly adding, “Please.”

Remus smiled at him, breaking off another piece of his chocolate bar and popping it into his mouth, before holding the bar up to Severus.

“Chocolate?”

Severus just stared at him until Remus put the bar away with a shrug. What was it with that man’s obsession with chocolate? Why couldn’t he just focus on what Severus wanted to know and tell him already? When Remus returned his gaze to Severus, the smile had shrunk significantly and he had taken on a rather cautious look.

“What is it that you remember? Or think to remember?” Remus asked, his voice low and gentle. Severus frowned as he thought about it, trying to grasp that memory again.

“It’s all very hazy, but I think I remember that form Harry cast, he was leaning over me. And I remember him talking, his voice. At some point I think he called my name.”

Remus smiled, but his eyes had turned oddly sad.

“You first woke up right after Harry cast that form, so that memory is probably as clear as it gets. But afterwards, he talked to you. He asked you about the curse, you even managed to answer him. That’s not when he called your name, though.“ 

Remus hesitated and Severus raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. With a sigh, Remus relented.

“After he healed the Sectumsempra wounds, you had passed out again and weren’t really breathing, or at least it looked like you weren’t. Your breathing had been rather erratic before, so maybe it was just invisible in comparison, or maybe you actually weren’t breathing—I couldn’t tell you. Harry, he— He sort of panicked. Keep in mind, that he had done a rather powerful bit of magic just a few minutes earlier, and then gone right on to heal the Sectumsempra cuts. He was probably completely exhausted and just too fired up to notice, and we were all on edge. Either way, he said your name and when you didn’t respond he got agitated. He called your name again, and again, and then—” Remus trailed off, his expression an odd mixture of emotions that Severus couldn’t fully decipher.

“Then _what?_ ” he asked, his voice tight.

“He called you Dad.”

The sensation in Severus’ chest was impossible to describe. It felt like his heart had both stopped and started to race at the same time, a tight knot of something _sweet_ expanding, unfolding, growing in his ribcage. He vaguely remembered a somewhat similar feeling, the first time Lily had told him that she loved him, back in their fourth year at Hogwarts. It was wonderful—and absolutely overwhelmingly too much. Severus suddenly realised he’d stopped breathing and quickly sucked in a sharp breath.

“Twice, actually,” Remus added, his voice even softer than before. “Right after he said it the first time, he cast Rennervate on you and started breathing properly—or visibly—again, opened your eyes and looked at him, and then he said it again. After that you kinda went under again and Harry half-collapsed into a chair because his exhaustion probably caught up with him.”

Severus didn’t know what to do with himself. Harry had called him Dad. Twice. It wasn’t a word Severus would ever have expected to be associated with. But here they were, and Harry had said it. At least _some_ part of him must have accepted Severus as his father, otherwise he would never have done that. Right?

 _You were dying and he was exhausted, he wasn’t thinking straight,_ a vicious little voice in his head hissed. Severus did his best to ignore it.

“Severus?” Remus was watching him worriedly.

“Yes, I— I’m not sure what to say,” he admitted.

“Have you talked to him yet?” Remus asked. “About your history with each other? About the prophecy?”

Severus shook his head. No, so far they had stayed in the safe confinements of academic conversations.

“I was planning to, yesterday, if the demonstration of the potion went well. But then—”

“Things went a little awry,” Remus finished for him. “You have to talk to him, Severus. Today. The longer you wait, the worse this conversation is going to be.”

“I know,” Severus agreed quietly. “I really was planning to do it yesterday.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself, Severus. I know you wanted to have this conversation with him from day one, and he was the one keeping you at a distance. But I think we’ve arrived at the point where you can’t allow Harry to avoid it anymore.”

“You’re right. I will talk to him after lunch,” he promised, trying to reassure himself just as much as Remus. 

When Narcissa announced that lunch would be ready in just about an hour, Severus decided to go take a shower and put on some proper clothes. He couldn’t simply stay in his pyjamas all day, no matter how tired he still felt.

Short two hours later, Severus felt worlds better. The scalding hot shower had helped ease some of the soreness in his muscles and after a good, warm meal he finally felt like he had at least _some_ energy again. Furthermore, he had to admit that lunch had been rather entertaining. Even though they kept their hands mostly to themselves, it was obvious that Draco had convinced Harry of the idea to stop hiding their— Whatever that was, Severus wasn’t entirely sure yet. Both of them were clearly smitten, barely able to smother matching grins as they kept up a steady banter, that included some surprisingly sharp jabs at each other sometimes, reminding Severus of much more serious bouts of insults between the two.

When Narcissa finally cleared the table with a flick of her wand, Draco and Harry got up in unison, with the obvious intention of disappearing somewhere in the house together—probably Harry’s room. And now Severus was going to ruin all their hormonal teenage fun.

“Harry, do you have a moment?” 

He was glad that his voice was steady, not betraying his nervousness. Harry eyed him for a moment, then nodded, before shooting an apologetic look at Draco. Merlin, were they going to be attached at the hip from now on? _Teenagers,_ Severus thought, almost rolling his eyes.

“Shall we go somewhere more comfortable?” he suggested, aware that he sounded more formal than he would’ve liked.

“Sure,” Harry replied with a shrug, gesturing for Severus to lead the way.

Standing swiftly, Severus led them to the drawing room, which was indisputably the nicest room in the entire house, maybe with the exception of Harry’s room. Only when he turned to close the door, he noticed that Draco was still with them. He was about to ask his godson to leave, when Draco quickly stepped up to Harry, pressed a brief kiss on his lips, and, with a whispered “See you later,” disappeared up the stairs. Severus felt his jaw drop, and it was only because Harry himself seemed rather flustered—he was blushing at least—that he managed to control his expression in time before Harry turned to look at him. 

Severus beckoned him inside, closing the door behind them and putting up a silencing charm, before following Harry to the seating area. As they settled down across from each other, Severus felt himself getting nervous again. This conversation could very well ruin all the progress he’d made in his relationship with Harry.

“We should talk, shouldn’t we,” Harry stated dryly, breaking the thick silence between them.

“Yes,” Severus agreed, “we should.”

He forced himself to breathe.

“There are a number of things I’d like to say and address, and I hope that you will hear me out until the end before you pass judgement.” 

He saw Harry give a subtle nod and relaxed a little.

“I owe you numerous apologies and explanations, and I would like you to hear as many as possible, which is why I’ll apologise for my comparably smaller mistakes first, before moving on to my more shameful failures.”

He had thought about this quite a bit. As much as he wanted his confession about the prophecy to be over, chances were that Harry would never speak to him again after learning what he had done, and Severus did not want to let the rest of his mistakes be forgotten just like that. Harry deserved an apology for all of it.

“First of all, I’d like to apologise for how I’ve treated you and your friends in class, as well as outside of class while at Hogwarts. While I do have reasons for my attitude towards some students, I know that it doesn’t excuse that I’ve treated you all unfairly.”

“What reasons?” Harry asked, his eyes hard. “Which students?”

“Well, there’s more than one facet to this. The first one has very little to do with any particular student personally, but is a question of reputation. I am well-known to favour pure-blooded Slytherins, while bullying half-bloods and muggle-borns from other houses. This reputation was deliberately built for over a decade, so that when the Dark Lord returned, as Albus always insisted he would, my loyalty to his ideals would not be questioned. It gives me no pleasure to snub talented students, and I’ve always made sure that end-term and end-of-year exams were graded fairly. The second is more personal. I admit that I’ve held biases against various students in your class in particular, that were founded upon personal grudges. While Mr Longbottom, for example, has certainly earned some of my disapproval through his subpar performance in my classroom, the reason why I was especially harsh with him is that the prophecy could’ve applied to him as well. Had the Dark Lord chosen Longbottom instead of you, Lily would’ve lived, and for that I resented him. That he was alive when she wasn’t.”

“How does that make any sense? You weren’t even friends when my mother died, and it’s not like you knew I was—” Harry didn’t finish his sentence. Ah, maybe Severus hadn’t thought this through as thoroughly as he had imagined.

“Harry, despite what you may believe, I loved your mother. We were…involved with each other during our time at Hogwarts, through fourth and most of fifth year. We kept it very private and we never— When Lily and I broke apart, it was more than just a friendship that ended. It wasn’t until after her death that I even began to move on emotionally, but the love never truly faded, it just changed with time.”

“You loved her,” Harry repeated with a hint of scepticism in his tone.

“Yes.”

“You still love her.”

“In a way, yes, although I am no longer _in love_ with her. I’ve moved on, but she will always have a place in my heart.”

“Then why did you hate _me_ so much?” The unexpected rawness in Harry’s voice made Severus’ insides churn. Straight to the point, typical Gryffindor boldness.

“That question has a rather…multifaceted answer. As you know, from your unfortunate trip into my Pensieve, there was no love lost between James Potter and me. My early years at Hogwarts were ruined by his so-called pranks. It was never-ending, and as much as I respect Albus, his favouritism towards the Gryffindors allowed them to get away with things you’d be _appalled_ by. And then Lily chose James and I had one more powerful reason to hate him.”

Severus sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“I do not wish to speak ill of the man you’ve loved and mourned as your father for fifteen years, I know that James Potter grew up and changed, otherwise Lily wouldn’t have married him. But to me, back then, he was the worst man in the world. The man who had tormented me for years, the man who got to marry the woman I loved. I hated everything about him.”

Harry was watching him calmly, his face impassive.

“When you came to Hogwarts, Harry, all I could see was James. I’m not sure you understand just _how much_ you were like him. It wasn’t just James Potter’s looks that Lily gave you with those charms, it was his entire being. You sounded like him, you moved like him, you behaved like him—you were virtually an exact copy of James Potter, down to the tiniest movements and habits. When I looked at you, I saw James’ face, the way he had looked when he bullied me. When I looked at you, I was reminded over and over that Lily had chosen him over myself.”

He sighed heavily.

“It’s no excuse, however, for how I’ve treated you. Despite all those similarities, I should have been able to differentiate between you and James. Instead, I took your frequent involvement in trouble as confirmation of my assumption that you were just like him and felt justified in my dislike of you. I was blinded by a decade old hatred and I never bothered to look past the surface, to see who you really were. I am truly sorry, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes were hard as steel as silence settled over them. Severus’ heart was beating too fast, and he forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply. The worst was yet to come.

“I forgive you,” said Harry finally, his tone pointedly neutral. Severus could barely believe his ears. “But you have to stop tormenting Neville. And Hermione. I don’t know what she did to make you hate her so much, but she doesn’t deserve it. Neither does Neville. None of the non-Slytherins deserve such condescending treatment, but I won’t ask you to go against Dumbledore if he really thinks— Just leave my friends alone.”

It was a Slytherin move if Severus had ever seen one, for Harry to be using his forgiveness as leverage to bargain for his friends to be treated better. Slytherin move towards Gryffindor ends.

“I will,” he promised.

Harry relaxed a little. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Severus said softly, mentally preparing himself for what was about to follow. “Unfortunately, there is one more thing we must discuss.”

“Two,” Harry interrupted, surprising Severus. Of course, how silly of him. Harry would have his own list of things to talk about.

“Let’s begin with yours, then,” Severus said, slightly dreading to hear what Harry would say next.

“That curse that Voldemort used on your chest, Narcissa said that it was your spell. That you invented it. Is it true?”

Severus nodded. “Yes, it is my spell. Sectumsempra. For enemies.”

“Why would you invent a spell like that?” The disapproval in Harry’s voice was obvious.

“I invented all sorts of spells,” Severus replied. “Without any friends, I had nothing better to do than to experiment—mostly with potions, but I also dabbled in spell-work. This particular curse was one of the last ones I ever finalised, along with its counter-curse. At that time, I was already involved with countless Death Eaters and prospective Death Eaters, since most of the upper year Slytherins intended to join the Dark Lord upon graduation. When they learned of my experiments, they encouraged me to try my hand at something more… _impactful_ than a muffling charm. This was the result.”

Harry regarded him thoughtfully.

“Are there any others?”

“Other spells I created? As I said, I invented all sorts of spells, so yes.”

“Destructive ones? Like this?”

“No, this is the only dark spell I ever made.”

Harry nodded, seemingly satisfied with Severus’ answers. Still, Severus hesitated. Surely Harry wouldn’t let that go so easily.

“Do you want to know more about them? The other spells?” he asked carefully.

“Hm? Sure, but not now. You said there was something else?”

 _Huh._ Apparently he did let it go so easily. Severus nodded, bracing himself.

“It’s about the prophecy,” he began, and could see Harry tense immediately. “Specifically, it’s about how the Dark Lord knew about the prophecy in the first place. As I’m sure Dumbledore has already told you, when Sybil Trelawney made the prophecy to him at the Hog’s Head, the first part of it was overheard by an eavesdropper, before he was caught and thrown out. That eavesdropper— It was me. I overheard the first part of the prophecy and brought it to the Dark Lord. I’m the one who told him. I’m the reason he came after you.”

The emotions flitting across Harry’s face appeared and disappeared too rapidly for Severus to truly catch them. Only a few seemed to be reappearing frequently enough to leave a lasting impression; anger, pain, betrayal—valid reactions. Any moment now Harry would probably get up, walk away from him and never look back. He had to try to explain at least.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen, I didn’t know he would think it was Lily’s child! If I had known that he would go after your mother, after you, I would never have told him. It is the biggest regret of my life. After learning that he thought the prophecy referred to you, I sought out Dumbledore. I begged him to protect you, all of you. Albus agreed to help, if I turned spy for the Order. I accepted immediately and have been a spy ever since, trying to make up for the worst mistake in my life. I’m so sorry, Harry, if I could undo it—” His voice broke.

Harry hadn’t moved at all, staring at Severus with those glowing green eyes, Lily’s eyes, unyieldingly. Where was his outburst?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Severus repeated softly.

“Yeah, I gathered as much,” Harry spat. There it was. The anger Severus had been expecting. “It shouldn’t matter, though.”

Severus looked up at him, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“It shouldn’t matter whether you knew. Are you telling me if Voldemort had gone after Neville, you wouldn’t have cared? You’d have stayed a faithful little Death Eater? Is that what you’re saying?” 

There was a cold fury in Harry’s voice, one that chilled Severus to the bone. The question took him aback, though, and he had to think about it for a moment.

“I— I’m not sure,” he eventually answered truthfully.

“What’s that supposed to mean? How can you not know?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Explain it then,” Harry insisted, his face hard.

Severus sighed, trying to order his thoughts. What _would_ have happened, if it hadn’t been Lily? Would he have stayed? Somehow he had troubles imagining himself as a loyal Death Eater, despite the fact that he once had been. But that had been before— It really all came down to her, in a way.

“During my time at Hogwarts, I was constantly surrounded by pure-bloods. Back then, in order to survive as a half-blood in Slytherin I had no choice but to try and get into their good graces. Thanks to my considerable talent with potions and in the dark arts, I managed to make valuable connections that kept me somewhat safe. I was young and impressionable, and over time my own opinions grew weaker as I adapted to their beliefs. That was probably why my relationship with Lily eventually broke apart, too—she saw me change long before I realised it was happening. After that, I had nothing that would have kept me from following my so-called friends into servitude to the Dark Lord, it was the only path I saw.”

He paused. Harry was watching him closely, paying more attention than Severus had ever seen from him before.

“I was weak, I can admit that by now. I was hoping to gain the Dark Lord’s favour, hoping that he could open doors for me, provide opportunities I would never get on my own. This way of thinking is what ultimately made me tell him about the prophecy I had overheard. But even back then, even as I told him about it, I had my doubts about supporting him, doubts that began long before but were overpowered by the influence of my surroundings. They were, however, slowly growing stronger—because of Lily. Because of that night she came to see me, to say goodbye. The night you—”

He sighed heavily, his mind clustered with too many thoughts.

“I can’t say for sure when or how it would have happened, but I don’t think I would have stayed loyal to the Dark Lord indefinitely. Looking back, I am appalled that I ever supported such a twisted man, such horrid ideals. When he decided to go after Lily, it opened my eyes to what he truly was. So, as an answer to your question: No, I don’t think I’d be a faithful supporter of the Dark Lord and his goals, but I’m not sure if I’d still be a Death Eater—I’m not sure if I’d have found the strength to leave or to approach Dumbledore, if I’d even have thought of approaching him for help. But I’d like to hope that I would have found a way to break free, somehow.”

Harry looked thoughtful, and he didn’t respond for a long while. Severus felt himself growing tenser by the second. Eventually, Harry breathed deeply once, before he finally replied, “Alright. Thank you for telling me.”

Severus blinked, momentarily stunned.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” he asked incredulously.

“What else do you want me to say?” Harry countered dryly.

“I expected…more. I expected you to be angry—”

“I _am_ angry,” Harry threw in.

“Angrier. I honestly expected you to tell me you never wanted to see me again. And I wouldn’t have blamed you for it either, what I did was reprehensible.”

Harry frowned.

“I knew you were a Death Eater. I figured you’d have done quite a few reprehensible things. Of course I’d rather you hadn’t told him, I’m definitely not happy about it, but even if you hadn’t, if the prophecy is true it wouldn’t have changed a thing, right? Chances are he would have come after me—or after Neville, I suppose—eventually, for whatever reason. It takes more than that for me to _never_ speak to you again. That doesn’t mean I’m not furious, but it means I’ll most likely calm down eventually.”

Severus could only stare at him in amazement. When had he grown up so much? When had he become so… _mature?_ Harry’s frown twisted into a cold smile.

“Would you prefer me to throw a tantrum?” he asked, his words dripping sarcasm.

“Of course not,” Severus said softly. “I am glad you’re willing to give me a chance. I hope one day you’ll actually call me what you did last night, although I’d understand if you never would.”

Harry blushed.

“I thought you didn’t remember,” he hissed.

“Remus told me.”

“Of course.”

“I’m glad he did,” Severus said, giving Harry a small smile.

“Right. Well, if that was all you wanted to discuss, I’ll go now.” Harry stood, his expression stubborn.

“I’ll come by your room for our lesson later, as usual?” Severus turned the statement into somewhat of a question.

“Sure.”

His eyes followed Harry as the boy left, leaving the door open behind him. All things considered, that had gone much better than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, that one took forever to write and it ended up much longer than intended. What do you think of Harry’s reaction, is he really so composed or is he hiding something from Severus?  
> As always I hope you enjoyed it and I’d love any feedback you might have.  
> \- Z.


	17. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry vents his temper after his conversation with Severus and Draco decides that it’s time to go back out into the world.

Draco was lounging on his bed, waiting for Harry to reemerge from the drawing room. Whatever he and Severus had to discuss had at least the potential to put him into a right foul mood, and Draco wasn’t about to let him go through it alone. Over the past week he had learnt many things about Harry, but one above all: His boyfriend had a tendency to bottle things up unless you pulled it out of him. Draco could tell that Harry was preoccupied pretty much all the time, and yet he hadn’t ever told Draco what he was ruminating about. Instead, Draco had noticed, Harry would seek physical reassurance whenever he was upset—and Draco was all too happy to provide.

Nevertheless, Draco couldn’t help but feel somewhat useless. Sure, they hadn’t been together for very long yet, and trust took time to build, but it was painfully obvious that Harry _wanted_ to talk about whatever was preoccupying him, he simply didn’t dare to. It made Draco curse every stupid thing he’d ever said, everything he’d done to make trusting him even harder than it already seemed to be in general for Harry.

The sound of a door opening downstairs made Draco jerk up and jump off the bed immediately. The sound of someone running up stairs confirmed Draco’s assumption that the conversation had properly riled Harry up. Harry did not come up to their floor, however. Instead, Draco heard a door on the second floor being ripped open, and Draco quickly hurried down the stairs.

“Harry?”

Draco’s call seemed to freeze Harry mid-motion, and he turned to look at him, green eyes full of fury. Before Draco could reach him, however, he had already sprung back into action, crossing the messy bedroom in long strides and fiddling with something on the bookshelf, which to Draco’s surprise suddenly slid to the side, revealing a stuffy, overly crowded sitting room. Draco had to hurry to slip through the hidden door before it fell closed again.

Harry turned to him, his expression exasperated.

“Draco, you don’t want to be here right now,” he grit out, but Draco shook his head.

“Yes, I do,” Draco countered. “You’re clearly upset and I won’t just leave you to deal with it all by yourself, so I’m staying. Do whatever you wanted to do, I’ll just be here if you need me.”

“You are _such_ a pain in the arse.”

“Well, you’ll have to live with that.”

He crossed his arms, stubbornly setting his jaw. Harry rolled his eyes and seemed to relent, as he grabbed Draco’s arm and manoeuvred him into a corner, before pointing his wand right at him. Some past reflex in Draco wanted to flinch and draw his own wand, but before he could even think about moving, Harry was already casting.

“Protego Maxima.”

The shimmering shield settled between them before Harry turned around to face the room—and let go. Draco wasn’t sure how long Harry was firing spells at the already battered furniture, but by the time his fury seemed to abate there was not a single piece left unbroken. Draco had to admit that he was impressed by Harry’s skill. He barely had to use a spell twice to take apart the entire room. Panting heavily, Harry eventually fired one last Reducto at the biggest piece of what used to be a couch, reducing it to splinters and loose stuffing. With a long exhale, he sank to his knees, looking exhausted. Draco wanted to go to him, only to be held back by the shield Harry had placed earlier. Frustrated he pressed his palm against it, not wanting to agitate Harry by breaking it down. He was about to speak up, but Harry must’ve felt him because he turned his head with a weak smile and waved his hand, cancelling the spell.

Draco was at his side in a heartbeat, pulling a weak Harry into his arms. He could feel him melt against him, tension draining out of his skinny body, as he rested his head on Draco’s shoulder. For a while neither of them said anything as they knelt on the dusty floor, tightly entangled. Harry’s racing heart and heavy breathing slowly calmed down.

“What happened?” Draco whispered eventually.

Harry looked up at him, giving him another weak smile.

“We had some things to talk about. It wasn’t particularly pleasant,” he said, sounding sad.

Draco furrowed his brows as he scanned Harry’s face. He looked exhausted.

“How about we go back to your room and you tell me about it?” Draco suggested, getting to his feet and pulling Harry up with him. Harry nodded mutely and moved ahead of Draco to open the hidden door.

“You know,” Draco remarked, “I’d be surprised about the existence of hidden rooms if this wasn’t a Black estate, and I’d be surprised that you found them in under a month if you weren’t Harry Potter.”

Harry laughed as the door slid closed behind them again. They made their way to Harry’s room quietly and Draco was glad that they didn’t run into anyone.

“So,” he said, once they were settled on the small couch Harry had added to his seating area at some point in the past week, “what did Sev do to piss you off so badly? Do I have to go rip him a new one?”

Harry snorted and shook his head. “What I would give to see that, but no. We just talked about a few things that were bound to come up eventually. How he’s treated me in the past, how he’s treated my friends. He explained a little more about his history with my— with James Potter, and with my mother. It helped me make sense of a lot of things, but it also begged new questions. Mostly I’m conflicted about his character. I want to give him a chance, I want to like him—and I’ve started to like him, in a way, but there are things about him that I can’t ignore and I can’t approve of.”

“You mean things like the fact that he’s a Death Eater.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Harry admitted with a shrug. “He _is_ my father, and I guess I’ve sort of started to wrap my head around that by now, Death Eater or not. But now he told me that it was him who brought the prophecy to Voldemort—”

“Prophecy? What prophecy?”

“—and it suddenly hit me again that he wasn’t always a spy for us. He used to actually support Voldemort, and it made me so _angry_.”

Harry fell back into the cushions with an exasperated sigh.

“I just wish I could truly trust him. Trust that he has really changed,” he whispered, closing his eyes as if to shut out his doubts.

Draco was silent for a moment, watching Harry closely as he considered his words. His mind was screaming to find out what the hell this prophecy was about, but it was clear that Harry’s focus was somewhere else and he deserved support, not selfish curiosity.

“I’ll ignore this prophecy business for now, Potter, but don’t think you’re off the hook,” Draco threatened, before continuing in a much warmer tone. “I don’t know much about Sev’s time as a Death Eater, only that my father was somehow involved in recruiting him. What I do know is that Sev is a good man. He’s my godfather, I’m not sure if you knew that already, and he’s been there for me when my actual father wasn’t. Especially since I started at Hogwarts, we’ve grown pretty close. Close enough that I went and asked him for help to run from the Dark Lord—and he didn’t let me down. Yeah, your history with him is very different, and he really doesn’t treat students that aren’t Slytherins very well, but I know him as a good, caring man towards those he values. I think you can trust that he will protect his own, and you are one of his own now. If he still had any feelings of loyalty towards the Dark Lord—which I honestly doubt—they disappeared the moment he realised that you’re his son.”

Harry scoffed. “Right, because being related by blood means so much. You just said yourself he treated you better than your own father. Blood means nothing, at least not in my experience.”

“Yet it seems that it does,” Draco insisted. “You feel it yourself, don’t you? Part of why you want to give Sev a chance is that you’re related by blood, so it must count for _something._ ”

“Maybe I’m just pathetically desperate for a family, given that I never had one.“

“You’re not pathetic, it’s natural to wish for parents if you didn’t have any growing up,” Draco chided.

Harry didn’t respond, still looking rather dejected. Draco sighed. The previous day had been a lot for Harry and his night couldn’t have been the most restful either, sleeping on a giant wolf. And even before, Draco had watched Harry’s eyes go vacant sometimes, as if he was a million miles away, and Harry would frown deeply, lost in whatever issue he was pondering. It was no different now. He seemed trapped in his thoughts, and Draco’s reassurances didn’t seem to reach him. Perhaps it was time to get Harry out of his head for a little while, Draco decided.

“Let’s go out,” he proposed, earning himself an incredulous glance from Harry. “Don’t give me that look, we’ve been cooped up in this house for weeks—you even longer than me. As much as this place—and its inhabitants, one in particular—is growing on me, it’s time to go see the outside world again. Seeing how much taller you are than before, you’ll need new robes either way, so how about we go shopping? I need some new dress robes too, and your sweater looks awfully worn.”

Harry laughed.

“Shopping? I’ve literally never gone shopping before in my entire life, except for school robes.”

Draco gaped at him. Surely he couldn’t be serious?

“Excuse me, _what?_ How— What?!”

“The Dursleys never bought me new clothes, and I certainly didn’t have any money to buy my own. I always got my cousin’s old ones that he had outgrown. Now that I’m taller, it all fits me better than before actually,” Harry replied with a shrug.

Sudden understanding crashed into Draco like a hex, followed by a feeling of overwhelming guilt. He’d assumed Harry simply didn’t care about how he dressed, he had never expected that he had nothing else to wear. From the little Harry had said about his relatives so far, first something about being used to going hungry and now this, Draco began to suspect that Harry’s childhood was very different from what he had always imagined.

“Well, that is absolutely unacceptable, we’re going to Diagon Alley right fucking now,” Draco declared, pulling Harry off the couch enthusiastically.

“Draco,” Harry laughed, “we can’t just go to Diagon Alley, we’re both literally hiding from Voldemort, remember?”

“Nonsense,” Draco insisted. “My mother and I are no more at risk than anyone else on the light side, and you barely look like yourself. I mean, you do, but not the you everybody knows. If we glamour your scar probably barely anyone would recognise you. I bet even Granger and Weasley would have to do a double-take to be sure.”

Harry hesitated, but allowed Draco to pull him up and out of the room. Excited, Draco called for his mother to present her with the idea. Her initial look of concern disappeared quickly as Draco explained, and he turned to Harry with a satisfied smirk.

“See? Told you it’s unacceptable. We can’t let the Boy-Who-Lived walk around in _hand-me-downs_ , that simply won’t do. Can you glamour his scar, mother? I’ll go pick some robes of mine he can wear until he gets some of his own.” He beamed at Harry. “Trust me, nobody will recognise you in wizarding attire, without your scar on your new face.”

Slowly, a small smile spread on Harry’s face and he gave in.

“Alright, alright, let’s go shopping then if you’re so excited about it. I should’ve figured, really, given how perfectly styled you always prance around.”

Draco gave an indignant huff, but decided not to argue and instead sprinted up the stairs to his room, to get a temporary outfit for Harry. It didn’t take him long to make a choice. Even though Harry was noticeably paler than he’d been before, his skin was still significantly darker than Draco’s, with a warmer, caramel undertone that he must’ve gotten from his mother, so most of Draco’s robes were obviously too cool toned for him. Black would have to do for now. Just as he wanted to go over to Harry’s room, Remus stepped into his path and Draco skidded to a halt.

“What’s going on here?” his former professor asked with a small smile.

Draco swallowed, remembering the massive wolf form he had turned into the previous night.

“We want to go out, Prof— er, Remus, to Diagon Alley, for new robes,” Draco managed, stumbling over the man’s name. He really hadn’t talked to him all that much in the three weeks since his arrival. Maybe it was time to change that, especially now that Harry and him had made their relationship somewhat public—there hadn’t been much of a point in trying to deny it after last night.

Remus frowned at him and Draco’s heart sank. Would he forbid Harry to go? Even though Severus was Harry’s father, Remus was currently acting as his guardian, or at least that’s what Harry had told Draco.

“Hey Remus,” Harry said, coming up the stairs behind Draco, who whirled around with a start.

His mother had glamoured Harry’s scar, leaving his forehead smooth and unmarred. Draco had to resist the urge to run his fingers across it, to see whether it would feel different too.

“Here, I got you some robes, those should fit you fine until we get you some new ones,” he said, pushing the bundle of clothes into Harry’s arms. Harry eyed the robes somewhat sceptically, but accepted it, before turning his attention back to Remus.

“We’re going to Diagon Alley, do you want to come along?” Harry asked so innocently that Draco had to hold back a snort.

Remus’ frown deepened.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked sceptically.

“Narcissa glamoured my scar, see? I doubt too many people would recognise me without it, given my new face and how much taller I am. There shouldn’t be too much risk, unless we run head first into Bellatrix or Voldemort himself, which I’d say is fairly unlikely,” Harry replied with a nonchalant shrug. “Besides, Narcissa is coming with us, so worst case she can just apparate us right home. You can come too, if you feel like it.”

Remus sighed heavily.

“Alright, you can go. But be careful, and keep your wand on you. I’m afraid I won’t join you, I want to rest a little. Will you be alright by yourself?”

Harry smiled widely and it made Draco’s heart speed up a little.

“Of course, don’t worry, Remus!”

The man smiled and rolled his eyes, before bidding them goodbye and disappearing up the stairs. Draco made to follow Harry into his room, but was pushed out resolutely. Although he respected Harry’s boundaries, he couldn’t help but pout a little disappointedly, at Harry’s stubborn unwillingness to change in front of him. It wasn’t the first time Harry had made him leave or left himself, just to change a shirt, while Harry had seen _him_ topless on the first fucking day he’d been here.

But Draco didn’t dwell on the unfairness of it when Harry reemerged after barely two minutes dressed in Draco’s robes. If Draco had been worried that they wouldn’t fit, he shouldn’t have been. On the contrary, the robes fit Harry almost to perfection and Draco was dimly aware that he was gaping. Harry had been attractive with his charmed-on face in his ill-fitted Muggle clothes and he’d grown even _more_ attractive when his actual face had been revealed, but in Draco’s robes Harry’s actual _figure_ was suddenly visible. Draco felt himself thrown back onto the Quidditch pitch, the only other time in which Harry wore such form-fitting clothing. No wonder Draco had always lost those matches, it was impossible to focus like this. And now he was _allowed_ to stare. The thought made him giddy.

“Do I look that ridiculous?” Harry asked, arching an eyebrow at Draco.

“What? No! You look bloody amazing, you git,” Draco retorted, before taking Harry’s hand and pulling him down the stairs. “Let’s go, it’s already three o’clock, I wanna make it to Twilfitt and Tatting’s before it gets all crowded once people are done with work.”

“It’s Sunday, Draco,” Harry said, then halted suddenly. “Are the shops even going to be open on Sunday?”

Draco gave him a confused look.

“Of course they are, why wouldn’t they be? I guess we’ll just have to deal with more people out shopping then. But hey, at least it’ll be safer in a larger crowd, right?”

“Muggle stores are closed on Sundays,” Harry said with a chuckle. “Guess wizards don’t really care about ‘on the seventh day you shall rest’ and all that.”

“What are you on about?” Draco asked, as they arrived in the entrance hall, where his mother was waiting for them.

“Never mind,” Harry said, smiling. “Let’s just go.”

Draco nodded and took the arm his mother offered them. Within seconds, they had spun away from Grimmauld Place and landed in one of the designated apparition points in Diagon Alley. People filled the streets, a wild assortment of witches and wizards going about their weekend business, doing all the things they couldn’t get to during the week. It was a hot day, and Draco immediately pulled out his wand to cast a cooling charm over the three of them—it wouldn’t do to get all sweaty before they even got to browse the stores.

“We should head to Gringotts first,” his mother said, beginning to walk in the direction of the bank. “I must refill my check-book, and you can withdraw some money from your personal vault, Draco.”

Draco nodded and followed her, Harry trailing a step behind. They were almost at the entrance of the white building when Harry suddenly stopped dead. Draco looked at him questioningly.

“I just realised that I don’t have my vault key with me,” Harry said, giving them a sheepish smile. “I haven’t been to Gringotts in a while, Remus withdrew some money for me to buy food and essentials for Grimmauld Place, I think the key is still with him. If you apparate me back I can get it.“

He looked a little guilty, and Draco reached out to squeeze his hand.

“That won’t be necessary, you don’t need your key. Just let the goblins scan your magical signature to identify yourself,” Draco’s mother replied, giving Harry another small smile.

Harry cocked his head in surprise, but seemed relieved. When they entered, a blue-robed goblin greeted them immediately.

“Lady Malfoy, a pleasure to welcome you to our halls again. How may we assist you?”

“Thank you, I would like to see my check-book renewed, and the two young men would have access to their respective vaults,” his mother responded coolly, her perfect pure-blood mask firmly in place.

“Of course, of course,” the goblin said with a small bow. “May I have the gentlemen’s vault keys? Burgock can accompany you right away.”

“Uhm, I’m afraid I don’t have my key with me,” Harry threw in, a shadow of anxiety creeping back into his eyes.

“Oh, no need to worry, please follow me,” the goblin replied promptly, gesturing for them to follow him into a secluded little booth, where he called for Burgock. “This young gentleman need access to his vault without his key, would you perform the necessary identification and then show them to their vaults? I must take care of Lady Malfoy in the meantime.”

Burgock, a stocky little goblin with slicked back, ginger hair, bustled over to them and raised his hands in front of Harry.

“May I, Mr …?”

“Potter,” Harry replied.

Burgock’s eyes widened slightly, but thankfully he didn’t say anything. A faint glow rippled from his wrinkled hand onto Harry, engulfing him for a moment, before dissipating again. Draco watched curiously, he’d never seen the goblins do magic before. When the spell was done, Burgock paused, furrowing his brows.

“Mr Potter, I see here that you have inherited several estates, some of them rather recently, but haven’t yet formally claimed either title. Would you like to rectify that, if you’re already here?”

Harry looked taken aback.

“Er, sure? What do I have to do?”

“One moment, Mr Potter, I will give you the official record of your complete inheritances. All it takes is a signature and a drop of your blood on the official documents to formalise your acceptance of the position as the head of house Black.”

Burgock turned towards the filing cabinets lining the walls and snapped his fingers. A drawer much further back flew open and a scroll of parchment flew right into the goblin’s hands.

“Ah yes, here we are. Quite a few estates you’re inheriting there, Mr Potter,” he said, looking rather impressed.

“May I see?” Harry asked curiously, and Draco could relate to the sentiment. He was itching to see that scroll for himself, too. Burgock handed the scroll to Harry, who unrolled it and held it out so Draco could read as well. For a split second, Draco was distracted by Harry’s automatic consideration to include him, it made him feel all sorts of weird and soft. However, when Harry suddenly gasped, his eyes flew back to the scroll and he began to read.

**_Harry James Potter_ **

_Parents: Lily Jane Potter (née Evans), Severus Tobias Snape (Lord of House Prince)_

**_Inheritances:_ **

_Blood Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Prince_

_Named Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black (unclaimed)_

_Named Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter (unclaimed)_

_Conquering Heir to the Ancient House of Gaunt (unclaimed, disputed)_

_Conquering Heir to the Ancient House of Peverell (unclaimed, disputed)_

_Conquering Heir to the Ancient House of Slytherin (unclaimed, disputed)_

Draco gasped, his mouth falling open in shock. _Slytherin?!_ How on earth was that possible? And how could an inheritance be disputed? He looked over at Harry, who seemed equally shell-shocked, although there was a storm of emotions in his eyes. Hesitantly, Draco reached out to touch his shoulder, which caused Harry to snap his green eyes to Draco’s. It looked like he was holding back tears.

“Harry?” Draco whispered, as if speaking too loud would set off something terrible.

Harry just shook his head disbelievingly, looking back at the scroll in his hands.

“Is something the matter, Mr Potter?” Burgock asked nervously.

That now got the attention of Draco’s mother, who had been talking quietly with the goblin who had greeted them upon entering. With a wave of her hand, she interrupted the goblin and stepped over to Draco and Harry.

“Harry? What’s going on?” she asked gently.

Wordlessly, Harry showed her the scroll. Her eyes widened as she read, and Draco wondered what was going through her mind. Then she smiled more brightly than Draco had seen in recent years, giving the scroll back to Harry.

“You know what that must mean, don’t you, Harry?” she asked, her voice full of affection.

But Harry just shook his head mutely, eyeing the scroll as if it was cursed. Draco’s mother sighed and moved to stand in front of Harry, looking up at him, as he stood at least a head taller than her. Still, Harry seemed tiny in this moment, his expression looking like he was completely lost.

“He knew, Harry. He knew and he loved you anyway, so much that he named you his heir. He didn’t care that you were Severus’ son,” she explained softly, and suddenly Draco understood. Harry wasn’t confused about being the heir to Slytherin, he was confused because he was heir to house Potter.

“Maybe she didn’t tell him who it was,” Harry whispered, although hope was flickering in his eyes now. Draco’s mother shook her head.

“If he came here to officially instate you as his Named Heir, as this paper shows, he would have had to see this paper to do so. He knew that Severus was your father. Your mother must have told him and he must have decided to make you his heir anyway, because he loved you like his own.”

A tear spilled from Harry’s eyes and his face crumpled. Before Draco could react, his mother had already wrapped her arms around Harry, swaying slightly back and forth as she whispered calming words in his ear. For a moment, Draco wondered whether he should feel jealous—either of someone else comforting _his_ boyfriend, or of someone else getting this sort of affection from his mother—but he found that he didn’t. Even though it had only been a week since Harry and him had started seeing each other, Draco had never felt so sure about anything before. Harry was his, he was family now, and it made sense that Draco’s mother would also come to care for him. He felt a smile spread on his face, as he watched his mother soothe Harry, and he gently put a hand on Harry’s back, just so he could feel he was here.

After a couple minutes, Harry freed himself from the embrace, whispered “Thank you” to Draco’s mother, and took a few deep breaths before turning back to Burgock, who was watching them anxiously.

“I would like to formally accept my unclaimed inheritances,” he said, his voice remarkably steady.

“Certainly, Mr Potter,” Burgock keened. “If you would simply sign here—” He waved his hand at the scroll, which grew a few inches, revealing a line for a signature. “—and provide a single drop of blood next to your signature. Yes, right here.”

Harry pricked his finger with his wand and pressed it to the document, next to his scrawly signature. The scroll glowed for a moment, then the words began to morph.

**_Harry James Potter_ **

_Parents: Lily Jane Potter (née Evans), Severus Tobias Snape (Lord of House Prince)_

**_Estates:_ **

_Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_

_Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter_

**_Inheritances:_ **

_Blood Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Prince_

_Conquering Heir to the Ancient House of Gaunt (unclaimed, disputed)_

_Conquering Heir to the Ancient House of Peverell (unclaimed, disputed)_

_Conquering Heir to the Ancient House of Slytherin (unclaimed, disputed)_

Draco felt his chest constrict a little, and he wasn’t sure whether it was pride or jealousy. One day he would inherit the title of Lord Malfoy, but that day was far in the future, unless his father died an untimely death. Seeing Harry’s smile, however, made the feeling melt away in an instant.

“Well, well,” he said with a chuckle, “barely sixteen and Lord of two Noble and Ancient Houses. How does it feel to move up in the world, Potter?”

Harry gave him an exasperated look and rolled his eyes.

“I’m just teasing,” Draco laughed. “But seriously, congratulations, this is no small thing. The Black and Potter family magics should support yours now, as if you weren’t bloody well powerful enough.”

Finally, Harry laughed too. He handed the scroll back to Burgock, who made a copy of it at the request of Draco’s mother, and then floated it back to its proper place in the shelves. Harry gave her a grateful look as he pocketed the copy, before turning back to Burgock.

“Shall we go to your vaults then?” the goblin asked eagerly.

Draco and Harry both nodded and followed Burgock out of the hall and into the caverns of Gringotts. It didn’t take them long to reach their vaults, and throughout their ride Burgock kept explaining to Harry how he could merge his vaults and how to access which one of them. Looking a little overwhelmed, Harry just listened for the most part, shooting Draco a grateful look when he squeezed Harry’s hand and whispered that he could help him with all that sometime. When they stepped back out of Gringotts, Harry looked the happiest he had ever since that morning Draco had first kissed him. It made Draco’s heart sing, and he couldn’t resist grabbing Harry’s hand.

Startled, Harry looked up at him.

“What if we run into someone we know?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Do you care?” Draco countered, trying to suppress the little twinge of hurt in his chest at the idea that Harry didn’t want anyone to see them together.

“I mean, no, if it was up to me I’d tell the whole world,” Harry said earnestly, and Draco felt like he might explode from joy, “but I somehow doubt people would just accept it that easily. I’m used to nasty rumours about myself, but you’re not. I don’t want anyone to give you a hard time.”

Bloody Gryffindors and their hero complexes. Draco simply squeezed Harry’s hand and pulled him into the people-packed street. Harry sighed, but didn’t argue further, following Draco through the crowd. Within minutes, they were at Twilfitt and Tatting’s and Draco’s excitement rose.

As soon as they entered, the seamstress swooped down, ushering them to the fitting area and asking for their tastes and wishes.

“First of all, I need new dress robes,” Draco declared. “Preferably in a cool-toned colour, something like light grey or blue. Second, we need a complete wardrobe for him.” He pointed at Harry, who blushed crimson. “Dress robes, everyday wear, casual clothing for at home, clothes to sleep in—everything.”

“Draco,” Harry hissed, “I don’t need so much! I wear my school robes for most of the year anyway.”

Draco gave him an indignant look.

“My dear man, I don’t care if you _need_ it. You _deserve_ your own clothes that fit you and it’s a shame that this should be the first time for you to get some.”

His mother inhaled sharply at that, her eyes fixed on Harry, mustering him intently. The seamstress lost no time and directed Harry to stand low stool, as a measuring tape flew around him to take his measurements, while Draco began to stroll around the store, eyeing different fabrics and cuts. Within only a few minutes, he had picked the first few and brought them back to the seamstress. She spelled the robes to Harry’s measurements and sent him into a fitting room to get changed. Draco turned his attention back to the store’s selection, when his mother stepped up to him.

“Darling, do you mean to tell me that your earlier claim that Harry never owned his own clothes before was _not_ an exaggeration to convince me to come here?” Her voice was laced with disbelief and disgust. Draco shook his head.

“No, he told me himself and Harry isn’t the type to lie. It makes sense now, why he’s always worn such shabby clothing in the few instances in which he wasn’t wearing school robes.” Draco grimaced. “I ridiculed him for that, I can’t believe I was so stupid. I always thought Harry Potter must’ve grown up adored, basking in fame; I fear I’ve been dramatically misguided in that belief.”

His mother pursed her lips and gave him a thoughtful look.

“I would like to know about the family life he had before moving into Grimmauld Place, which is a new development as I understood,” she said finally, crossing her arms.

Draco nodded his agreement. He would indeed like to know more about Harry’s past, although he wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to breach the subject. Perhaps an opportunity would eventually arise.

In that moment, Harry stepped out of the fitting room again, clad in simple, but perfectly fitted, black robes. Draco had to suppress a gasp. This just wasn’t fair, not in the slightest. Harry looked positively edible, and Draco suddenly doubted whether this had been a good idea. If Harry walked around like that, Draco would have a mountain of competition in no time. He looked up at Harry’s face, and the shy smile playing around his lips eradicated any such thoughts immediately. How could he ever keep anything from Harry if it’d get him a smile like that? He beamed at Harry.

“Do you like them?” he asked excitedly.

“Yeah, I mean, they’re nice. Comfortable, too,” Harry said shyly, a blush rising in his cheeks. Merlin, Draco wanted to kiss him senseless.

“They suit you very well,” Draco’s mother commented approvingly. “How about you try on the next set, while Draco and I look for some more styles and colours you might appreciate?”

Harry blushed further and quickly shook his head.

“No, please, you don’t have to do that. Just look for the things you wanted to buy for yourselves. I really don’t need a lot,” he assured, but Draco’s mother dismissed it with a wave of her hand.

“Nonsense, Draco is right. You deserve your own wardrobe that fits you, and it should be properly stocked. After all, you’re now the Lord Black _and_ the Lord Potter. Just relax, Draco and I will pick suitable attire for you—unless of course you have specific wishes?”

She was already moving along the clothes racks, picking up trousers, jumpers and shirts as she went. Harry’s face was now scarlet, but he didn’t argue. Draco smirked, nobody would dare argue with his mother when she adopted this particular tone, not even Harry Potter.

For the next two hours they selected outfit after outfit for Harry, had him try it on and then judged whether it was worthy to be purchased or not. It was honestly the most fun Draco had had in years, while Harry, though he seemed to be enjoying himself, looked a little overwhelmed. After they had amassed an incredible collection of clothing for Harry, Draco finally declared their haul complete and released Harry, taking the changing room for himself instead to try on the dress robes he’d chosen. They were midnight blue, with silver ornaments that matched his eyes running along the seams. When he stepped out of the fitting room, he heard Harry inhale sharply and had to suppress a grin. At least he wasn’t the only one admiring his boyfriend.

“What do you think?” he asked idly, as he strolled to stand in front of the large mirror in the fitting area.

“I think you shouldn’t let anyone but me see you in these,” Harry answered, before snapping his mouth shut in horror at what he just said, blushing furiously again. Draco grinned.

“Possessive, are we?” he teased, giving Harry a wink.

“No, I mean, you look really good,” Harry mumbled, clearly mortified.

Draco laughed, inspecting himself in the mirror. Yes, he rather liked the robes, and Harry’s reaction alone would’ve been enough for him to buy them in any case.

“I’ll take them,” he told the seamstress, who beamed at him. They probably had just made most of today’s revenue with their visit. Draco sent a silent thank you to Sirius Black and James Potter for making Harry their heir, effectively securing his financial stability a thousand times over.

After he got out of the dress robes and exited the fitting room again, he found his mother already at the register, ordering Harry’s clothes to be packed up and prepared for pickup, so she could summon Kreacher to take them back to Grimmauld Place. Harry was hovering behind her, fiddling with his coin pouch. He looked anxious, and it dawned on Draco that he was probably questioning whether he had retrieved enough gold for such a large purchase. Draco went over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, which made him flinch a bit.

“You alright?” Draco asked lightly, putting his robes on the counter next to Harry’s purchase.

“What? Oh, yeah,” Harry responded while exhaling a deep breath.

“It’s not an issue if you don’t have enough cash, mother can give you one of her checks and you just write your name into it,” Draco reassured him, and Harry relaxed marginally.

The seamstress picked up Draco’s robes, adding them to Harry’s pile—and his bill. Draco quickly stepped forward to correct her, “Those are mine, they don’t go on his check.”

His mother laughed, shook her head and motioned to the seamstress to carry on. Draco stared at her in disbelief. His mother would _never_ be so impolite as to let Harry pay for him.

“Don’t be silly, Draco, I’m paying of course,” his mother declared with a slight eye-roll.

“What?!” Harry’s voice had jumped up an octave. “No, absolutely not! Narcissa, I have my own money, you saw it yourself, I can afford those myself. I’m not a charity case.”

She turned to him, looking him up and down with a calculating stare.

“No, you are most definitely not a charity case,” she agreed. “But you _are_ a fifteen year old boy whose family so far has neglected to provide proper attire for. I am rectifying that negligence. Consider it a parental gift, or consider it a thank you for sharing your house with us, whichever makes you feel better.”

Harry gaped at her, speechless for a second, then shook his head again vehemently.

“I can’t accept this, Narcissa,” he insisted. “It’s too much!”

She ignored him, turning back to the seamstress, who had packed their purchase into a multitude of bags. When she pulled out her check-book, Harry stepped forward to stop her, making her turn to face him again. Despite her being significantly shorter than Harry, her fierceness made him shrink back like a much younger child.

“Harry, you will not convince me otherwise! The Malfoy vaults are full and completely under my jurisdiction, the money spent on this will go all but unnoticed. Please, let me make this purchase for you. I can not accept that you should buy your _first set of clothes_ with your own money, that should be _provided_ for you and nothing you say will make me change my mind.”

Harry stared at her for another moment, then visibly deflated, giving a defeated nod. Draco laughed softly, running a soothing hand over his back, which earned him a small smile.

A few minutes later, Kreacher had picked up the countless bags of clothing and they left Twilfitt and Tatting’s behind, strolling down Diagon Alley in the mild evening sun. Draco was pleased with himself. If nothing else, at least Harry had proper clothes now. And two Lordships.

They wandered around a little longer, visiting this store or that. Harry grew incredibly excited about a pair of wandholsters they saw in a window, and he eventually caved and bought it. Both Draco and Harry spent a good amount of time at Quality Quidditch Supplies, but managed to control their urges to get brand new brooms after a warning glance from Draco’s mother. Eventually, they went to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour and picked up two scones of ice cream, before finally apparating back home.

As his mother went downstairs to prepare dinner, Draco busied himself with putting Harry’s new clothes away into the closet, not even filling it by half. By the time he reemerged Harry was immersed in a conversation with Remus who must’ve heard them return, and Draco decided not to disturb them, going to his room to sort his own purchases instead. He was barely finished when his mother’s chiming charm rang through the house, calling them down to dinner.

An hour and a good meal later, after returning to Harry’s room and settling down on the couch, Draco pulled Harry close, enjoying that they didn’t have to hide this anymore, ready to jump up at the slightest sound.

“Do you feel better?” he asked quietly into the silence. He felt Harry’s smile against his shoulder.

“Yeah, I do,” Harry replied. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Potter.”

Yes, this had been a good day for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Thanks to [PotionDaddy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionDaddy) for beta reading! for beta reading!
> 
> Alright, phew. This chapter turned out wayyyy longer than it was supposed to be (whops).  
> Originally, there was some actual plot in this one, including quite a bit of angst. My dear friend and best-motivator Alex (PotionDaddy), then complained that there had been an awful lot of angst since we established Drarry - with the torture and the healing and then Harry’s sad thoughts and the heavy conversation with Severus. So I cut the chapter in half in the middle and went with the fluffiest fluff instead and sent them all shopping together. Yay!  
> Now I'm afraid you won't be fully spared of that dose of angst, it has merely been rescheduled for later, after I give my bois and Narcissa a little breather.  
> As always I hope you enjoyed it and I’d love any feedback you might have.  
> \- Z.


	18. Bubbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus wants to take a relaxing bath after the full moon and Harry returns from Diagon Alley with exciting news.

Remus was incredibly tired. He’d barely managed to get out of bed, then struggled to stay awake while waiting for Severus and through lunch. It was high time for a nap. Or a bath. Yes, a bath would do him worlds of good, he decided.

Last night, after Draco had left, he had continued to mull over Harry’s words, thinking about how best to help his cub. When he felt his transformation back into his human form begin, he’d carefully edged away from Harry, somehow managing not to wake the youth up, dressed and then slept for a measly two or three hours, before being startled awake by Harry trying to sneak out of the room. It wasn’t Harry’s fault, his hearing was simply too sensitive.

Now though, he had all the time in the world, especially since Draco had somehow convinced Harry to go on a shopping spree in Diagon Alley. While he was reluctant to let Harry wander around in public, he had to admit that their argument of him being barely recognisable without his scar was valid, and the chance of being attacked in the middle of Diagon Alley was comparably low. It really would do his cub some good to get out of the house, and Narcissa, whom Remus had come to appreciate greatly over the past weeks, was with them. She would never let anything happen to Draco, and Remus had a feeling that Harry was rather growing on her as well. Motherly instinct, he supposed.

Opening the tab for his bath, he eyed the various oils and bubble bath options lined on the shelf. They were leftovers from Sirius. A memory of the two of them in this bathtub flashed through his mind, and he blushed, before quickly smothering the thought. It wouldn’t do to get himself all riled up with no way to properly get rid of that energy again. It was always worse around the full moon. Like the animal in him was pushing its urges onto him. Although admittedly, it had lead to rather mind-blowing sex in the past.

Again, he forced himself to push away memories of himself and Sirius. _Bubbles_ , he decided, reaching for a little white bottle that smelled like vanilla and coconut, and poured a generous amount into the rising water in the tub.

When he climbed into the bath a few minutes later, the water was scalding hot—perfect. He could feel his tired and from his transformation irritated muscles unknot and relax. With a sigh, he sank deeper into the water. The only thing missing now was— With a flick of his wand, he summoned a bar of chocolate and happily ate a piece. Yes, perfect.

For a time, he just lay there, soaking in the warmth of the water, surrounded by scented bubbles, not thinking much of anything. After a while, however, his thoughts caught up with him. _Harry_. He sighed heavily and allowed himself to return to his ruminations from the previous night.

Harry was facing so much, and there were only so few things Remus could actually help him with. He could duel with him, teach him everything he knew about defence and about dark arts. In fact, Harry was already winning some of their duels, and Remus suspected he’d be winning more of them if he didn’t let Remus injure him on purpose, so he could test his healing spells. And he was teaching him how to apparate. It was an incredibly useful skill to have, especially for someone so often targeted as Harry.

His cub really barely ever got a break and the knowledge frustrated him to no end. He was hoping that going out with Draco would at least grant Harry some reprieve. The two were awfully infatuated with each other, and now that he knew, Remus felt rather stupid for not seeing it earlier. Narcissa had, of course. Ever the mother, knowing her son down to the tiniest detail, knowing exactly what certain glances and reactions meant. That’s how he was supposed to know Harry, but he didn’t. Not yet. He had, however, begun to pay more active attention, at the very least, and he had to admit that that Harry and Draco were not exactly subtle. Admittedly, they probably weren’t trying to be subtle anymore either, now that their little secret was out to everyone in the house anyway, but Remus found himself wondering whether those long stares between them had been there before already, and he’d just missed them somehow.

The two could still be rather snarky with each other sometimes, that much was certainly true, but only minutes after some sharp banter, Remus would catch Draco simply staring at Harry as he read his book, as if nothing in the world was more interesting than watching Harry read. Vice versa, Remus had found Harry to consistently stare after Draco whenever he went anywhere.

They didn’t spend _all_ their time together, which frankly impressed Remus if he thought back to how he and Sirius had been back at that age. James had nearly lost his mind around them sometimes. Once more he wished times could be as simple as back then again. Even though, if he was truly honest with himself, times hadn’t been simple back then either.

The First Wizarding War. That’s what they called it now, twenty years later. As if it had always been clear that there would be a second one. But they hadn’t known, had they? Nobody had told them that You-Know-Who would fall, only to rise again. Well, there was the prophecy. Even back then, there had been a lot of speculation about this supposed Chosen One, and when Albus Dumbledore had eventually approached the Potters, advising them to go into hiding, they had all assumed they would stay in hiding for years, until their child was grown.

It had all turned out differently, of course. Lily and James were murdered, he’d lost them and Sirius _and_ Harry all at once. And now he had a second chance at taking care of Harry.

Remus sank further into the hot water, his head surrounded by mountains of white sparkling foam. The heat of the water had filled the entire bathroom with steam, and he revelled in it. His thoughts drifted back to Sirius, how they’d sat in this bathtub together, in hot water like he did now, skin against skin—

 _Merlin, get it together_ , he chided himself.

Every month he forgot how bad his urges got around the full moon, and every month it hit him again full force. He found himself envying Harry and Draco, as immature as that sounded because he doubted that those two were already fully going at it—or at least he hoped they weren’t, Merlin, would he have to give Harry _the talk?!_ —but at least they had each other. Just to have someone close, to feel someone. The wolf inside him protested that sentiment, but Remus stubbornly insisted that it would at least help a _little_.

It was a bit over a month now since he’d lost Sirius. A bit over a month alone, and he found himself _craving_ human contact already. How he had survived those twelve years when Sirius had been gone was beyond him. He’d never had lasting relationships in that time, but casual sex just didn’t compare to truly knowing someone you were intimate with. His best times had been when he had somewhat stable affairs with people he could genuinely like and meet up with around the full moon. But eventually, he’d always felt guilty about it. Like he was somehow lying to them, even if he truly liked them. So, it had always ended with him breaking it off. If he was completely honest with himself, he didn’t want someone just to fuck, despite all his urges. If anything, he’d want a true friend, like Sirius had been. And if he could fuck that friend, all the better, as long as it wouldn’t destroy the friendship. He’d rather fight his urges than risk a true friend, given how hard those were to come by.

The hot water around him seemed to heat up even further, as unbidden memories of Sirius came back to him. He growled in frustration and, holding his breath, dipped his head under the surface. The sounds of the house were both muffled and amplified through the water. His thoughts were swirling in spirals, as he kept trying to keep them away from Sirius and how fucking delicious he smelled. He forced himself to think of Harry instead, which had the desired effect of distracting him, albeit at the cost of making him worry again. He wondered how the conversation between him and Severus had gone, although, considering that Draco had felt the need to rescue Harry out of the house, it probably hadn’t been all too pleasant.

Remus’ lungs protested against the lack of oxygen, and he resurfaced through the slowly diminishing bubbles with a gasp. Yes, much better now.

How did Severus feel about their conversation, though? Over the past weeks, Remus had grown rather fond of the man. Their daily conversations ranged from incredibly short to several hours long, and they weren’t _all_ about Harry either. Not anymore. Sometimes they talked about Lily, although the subject was a sore one for Severus. Other times Remus would tell Severus about his time spent among his own kind and be continuously surprised by the man’s apparent tolerance and acceptance towards werewolves, especially considering his past experiences. To say that it had been a shock when he’d come home half-dead the previous day would be an understatement.

Remus sighed, forcing himself to relax again. Worrying wasn’t helping either, he’d simply have to ask Severus about the conversation with Harry. In fact, he’d have to ask both of them about it, once they were both back home—Severus had gone to give his report to Albus and Harry was out with Draco and Narcissa.

With a start, Remus realised that he had the house to himself. Risky, foolish ideas began to form in the back of his mind, and he willed them away forcefully. He would absolutely _not_ give in to those memories and fantasies, when the others could be back any—

The bathroom door opened. Not his own, the one leading to _Severus’_ room. It took the full effort of years of practised self-control for Remus to freeze instead of flinch, which would’ve set the bloody water in motion, which could’ve moved the remaining bubbles, which _absolutely_ needed to stay exactly where they were right now.

_Why the hell did they have to build this bathroom as a connecting room? Why couldn’t it be a regular bathroom with access from the hallway?_

All those thoughts shot through Remus before the door had even fully opened. Severus had seemingly just come home from his meeting with Albus, looking deep in thought, until—

“Oh,” Severus startled, stared, then his eyes widened. _“Oh!_ God, I’m sorry!”

His pale face was blushing crimson, but he seemed frozen, his gaze fixed on Remus, until he finally, after several seconds of rising tension, flung a hand before his eyes, turning his head, but not leaving the room. Remus could hear Severus’ heart beat, strong and incredibly fast—almost like his own heart. For an excruciatingly long moment, Severus appeared to be paralysed. Remus couldn’t help himself, he inhaled deeply, taking in his scent, the smell of blood thundering through his veins, of the slightest sheen of sweat on his blushing skin, of nervousness, fear and…lust?

“Sorry!” Severus yelped again, and finally had the mind to retreat back into his room, pulling the door closed.

Remus lay motionless in the tub, overwhelmed and confused by what had just happened. What the fuck _had_ just happened? He forced himself to take another deep breath, trying to expel the lingering scent of Severus from his nose. It lingered anyway. And _Merlin_ it was hard to focus while it was lingering. Remus compelled himself to keep breathing, slowly getting rid of the very sensory reminder of the encounter.

Only once Severus’ scent had finally faded almost completely did Remus’ mortification catch up with him. Severus had seen him _in the bathtub_. Naked. Remus could feel himself flush bright red. Gods, what was wrong with him? He’d never been the type to be shy, especially not around a full moon. And it wasn’t like Severus would give a second thought to what he’d seen, the man was straight.

 _Is he though?_ The thought came unbidden, and Remus tried his best to argue against it, only to find that he couldn’t. The assumption was based upon the fact that Lily was the only partner of Severus’ that Remus knew about. That didn’t mean there hadn’t been others, or even if there hadn’t been, that there couldn’t be others. Male others. Severus’ reaction had certainly not been very typical for a straight man. Remus felt his heartbeat quicken. Could Severus be _interested_ in him? No, absolutely not, he quickly reined himself in. Better not to assume, better not to speculate. They were just becoming friends, and they were both responsible for Harry. Throwing ambiguous sexual attraction into the mix sounded like a supremely bad idea.

Resolutely, Remus pushed himself out of the water, pulled the plug from the drain and showered the bubbles off his skin. Best not to think about it.

He dressed himself quickly, before settling down on his bed with a book to distract himself. Thank Merlin, it worked. About an hour later, Remus felt calm again, able to rationalise the situation. Severus had been startled, Remus’ mind had transferred his previous thoughts onto Severus’ reaction. It meant nothing, just an unfortunate run-in in a shared bathroom because Remus had forgotten to lock both doors.

The sound of voices pulled Remus back into the present. Harry must’ve returned. Checking the clock, Remus noted that the three had been gone for over four hours. With a smile, he put away his book and went downstairs.

He found Harry in his room watching Draco, as the Slytherin meticulously arranged a mountain of clothes in Harry’s closet. Looking Harry up and down, Remus had to admit that their shopping spree had certainly given Harry a new look that suited him rather well. He looked comfortable and confident, which wasn’t something Remus could observe in the youth as much as he would’ve liked. When Harry noticed him, a wide smile appeared on his face.

“Remus! Come in, I’ve got to tell you something,” Harry said, pulling Remus over to the sitting area enthusiastically.

“Alright, alright, slow down, cub,” Remus laughed, as he settled into one of the dark velvet armchairs. “What is so exciting?”

“So, we had to go to Gringotts to pick up some money, right? But you still have my vault key—I’ll need that back, by the way—so I asked the goblins to scan me to confirm my identity.”

Harry was talking at rapid speed and Remus could honestly not remember ever having seen him so excited.

“So this goblin, Burgock, did a scan and suddenly tells me that I’ve inherited estates that I haven’t claimed yet, and asks whether I want to claim them now. I thought he must mean Sirius’ estate, y’know, because he named me heir of the Black lineage, so I said yes, and he summons this scroll with all my inheritances on it.”

Harry paused then, suddenly furrowing his brows.

“I guess I could’ve found out about Severus being my father much earlier, if I’d just forgotten my Gringotts key, because it said his name right there on that scroll. Wait—”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled up parchment, holding it out to Remus, who took it carefully.

“So, guess what,” Harry said, beaming at him.

Remus didn’t have to guess, it was right in front of him.

**_Harry James Potter_ **

_Parents: Lily Jane Potter (née Evans), Severus Tobias Snape (Lord of House Prince)_

**_Estates:_ **

_Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_

_Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter_

**_Inheritances:_ **

_Blood Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Prince_

_Conquering Heir to the Ancient House of Gaunt (unclaimed, disputed)_

_Conquering Heir to the Ancient House of Peverell (unclaimed, disputed)_

_Conquering Heir to the Ancient House of Slytherin (unclaimed, disputed)_

“James knew,” Remus breathed, half in shock.

Harry nodded, grinning widely.

“James knew and he named you his heir. And he would’ve seen this, because I know you weren’t named heir in his will so he must’ve gone there, he knew it was Severus, he— Holy fuck!”

Remus laughed a little breathlessly, trying to let the information sink in. Lily had _told_ James about her and Severus, and he’d forgiven her, perhaps even accepted it from the start. And he had named Harry his heir, despite him being Severus’ son.

A multitude of emotions welled up in his chest, first and foremost incredible gratitude and love for his old friend. James truly had been a kind soul. Not that it was news to Remus, but this certainly reinforced the knowledge.

“Harry, that’s—” He looked up at the youth in front of him. Yes, Harry seemed overjoyed, like James’ acceptance had melted away the lingering insecurity whether he would’ve been loved as Severus Snape’s son. Harry had gotten an answer now, literally in ink on parchment.

Remus hugged him.

“I’m so happy for you,” he whispered, squeezing Harry once before he pulled back.

He glanced at the parchment again and lifted his brows in surprise.

“Slytherin? How the hell did that happen?” he asked. Harry gave him a sheepish smile.

“I, er, I didn’t ask,” he said, looking bashful. “I was a little distracted by the whole Lord Potter and Lord Black thing.”

Remus laughed. He couldn’t fault the boy for being preoccupied upon finding out that his presumed father had accepted him as a surrogate son, despite knowing who his actual father was, whom he despised.

“Lord Potter and Lord Black, hm?” he teased, handing the parchment back to Harry. “Quite the titles for an almost-sixteen year old. I see you’ve already stocked up on suitable attire.”

Harry blushed, but kept grinning.

“Draco and Narcissa picked it all out, I barely had any say in it,” he replied, smoothing down the front of his jumper. “I do want some Muggle clothes eventually though. Wizards attire is all good and fine, but a comfortable t-shirt and a nice pair of jeans, or _sweatpants,_ are a different level of comfortable.”

Remus nodded, smiling. Whatever the Malfoys had done with him this afternoon, he approved of it.

Their conversation was cut short by the chiming charm announcing dinner, and they swiftly made their way downstairs. It was only when his eyes met Severus’ that Remus remembered the earlier incident in the bathroom.

 _It was nothing,_ he reminded himself, as he sat down at the dining table right next to the man. Somehow, they had established permanent seats for all of them, with Harry at the head of the table, Remus and Severus to his right, Draco and Narcissa to his left. It seemed fitting, given that Harry was now literally the Lord of the House.

They ate quietly for a few minutes, before Remus remembered something.

“Severus, you’ve gone to see Albus today, right?” he asked, turning towards him.

“Yes, I have. I gave him my report about the Death Eater meeting,” Severus responded.

There was more, Remus could feel it, but Severus wouldn’t volunteer any further details by himself as he knew him.

“Did you by any chance speak about anything else?” he prodded, biting back a grin when Severus rolled his eyes at him.

“Yes, we have in fact,” Severus retorted, his voice going silky like it did when he was reprimanding students. “He inquired about Harry, and whether there were any new revelations regarding his parentage. I told him that the mystery has been solved.”

Harry choked on his drink.

“You told him? What did he say?” Harry gasped, trying to hold back a cough. It was the first time he’d spoken to Severus since they’d sat down for dinner.

Severus smiled mildly.

“He said congratulations,” he replied smoothly, before turning back to his meal.

Harry huffed indignantly, and Remus had to stifle a laugh. Yes, that sounded like Albus. The old meddler had probably already suspected it when he’d insisted that Severus was to give Harry daily Occlumency lessons.

With Remus momentarily lost in thought, the conversation at the table turned towards the shopping trip in Diagon Alley—Harry was stubbornly ignoring Severus again—and soon enough, the boys excused themselves, disappearing upstairs in Harry’s room. Remus watched them go, idly rolling his glass back and forth on the table.

“They seem good together,” he noted.

Narcissa smiled and nodded her agreement.

“Yes, quite. I’ve never seen Draco so unguarded before, I do hope it keeps up once the school year starts.”

Remus frowned. He hadn’t even thought about them going back to school at some point. They’d be facing a quite mixed response, he assumed.

“Yes, let’s hope,” he agreed, suddenly thoughtful. “At the very least they have each other.”

Severus nodded. “At least they have each other, indeed,” he said quietly, and for some reason Remus felt his pulse quicken slightly at that.

 _Stop that_ , he chided himself. This was not the time for full moon nonsense. Nevertheless, for the rest of their meal he found himself keeping his eyes on Severus far more than usual.

And, Merlin fucking spare him, he liked what he saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 100% dedicated to my best friend and personal hype-woman: Alex (aka. Thanks to [PotionDaddy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionDaddy) for beta reading!).  
> I mentioned this idea of Severus walking in on Remus in the bathtub, because they share a bathroom with two doors, in passing. REALLY only in passing, but Alex latched on to it and made me pinky promise to write it, even if it was just a short filler-chapter. I tried to include some minor plot as well and it somehow turned out a bit more sexual than intended (whops).
> 
> Furthermore, since Grimmauld Place has gone through some changes in this fic and I've been whining about it a little, my angel and saviour Alex (again PotionDaddy) has agreed to draw floor plans of Grimmauld Place. They're still very much in progress, but shall be included as necessary. For now, here's the fourth floor:
> 
>   
> As always thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it and I’d love any feedback you might have.  
> \- Z.


	19. Harry's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally tells his story. All of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Flashback/panic attack, mentions of child abuse, mentions of violence

The past two days had been delightfully uneventful. After their shopping trip Draco had stayed in Harry’s room for the night and nobody had even tried to question it. To his surprise, Harry hadn’t woken the Slytherin up with nightmares, but instead finally slept a full night without any disturbances, even though he hadn’t been completely exhausted before going to sleep. Later that day, Narcissa had declared the dining room officially renovated, and insisted that Harry assess her result. He’d been glad that he could honestly say that he loved it. She had done a wonderful job, replacing all of the wallpaper, most of the furniture and somehow fixing the old floors. As a result, they now officially ate in the dining room again, instead of down in the basement kitchen. Harry had to admit that it felt rather nice to eat in a room with actual windows. Grimmauld Place was starting to feel like a proper home, and the people inside like somewhat of a family.

Harry hadn’t spoken much with Severus since their conversation about the prophecy, although their Occlumency lessons continued to go rather well. His anger towards the man had cooled down, partially due to Draco’s continued stories about growing up with Severus as a godfather. It helped Harry reconcile the man he knew with the man who was trying to be his father. It helped Harry find some trust in Severus. Still, it would take some time until they breached personal topics again.

It was the exact opposite with Narcissa and Draco. After their objective assessment of the dining room, Harry had insisted on helping Narcissa with the next room, to which she had eventually agreed, albeit rather reluctantly. She seemed to believe that the Lord of the house should not have to deal with such things, but Harry had stayed stubborn, until she’d eventually allowed him to help her clear out one of the unused bedrooms on the second floor. 

During the rather tedious task, they somehow started several conversations, which eventually on the third day led to Harry recounting all his ridiculous adventures at Hogwarts so far. Draco, who had been listening in and occasionally moved a piece of furniture around, was barely able to hide his outrage at some of it. He insisted that he could’ve beaten McGonagall’s giant chess board much quicker than Ron, and without having to lose a vital piece like _himself_. When Harry got to the part about Voldemort on the back of Quirrell’s head, Draco went uncharacteristically quiet, until he finally walked right up to Harry and pulled him into a tight hug, as if he was afraid that Harry would suddenly drop dead out of nowhere. 

The concerned looks on both his and Narcissa’s faces only deepened when Harry recounted how he’d heard voices throughout second year, which turned out to be the Basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets. The only thing that momentarily distracted Draco was Harry’s admission that they had broken into the Slytherin common room with Polyjuice Potion.

“You did _what?!”_ he squeaked, looking outraged.

“We brewed Polyjuice Potion in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom because we thought you were the Heir of Slytherin and wanted to interrogate you,” Harry replied sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?! You— I—” Draco spluttered, and Harry laughed. 

“I can’t believe you,” Draco muttered eventually, looking awfully put out. But his outrage at Gryffindors breaking into the Slytherin common room was quickly forgotten, when Harry recounted entering the Chamber to find Ginny, meeting sixteen year old Voldemort, still going by the name of Tom Riddle. All blood seemed to drain from Draco’s face when Harry told how he’d fought the Basilisk with the help of a phoenix and a sword out of a hat, how he’d been bitten by the Basilisk and how he’d destroyed the diary with the its tooth, thinking it would be the last thing he’d ever do. Seeing Draco’s expression, Harry quickly moved to grab his boyfriend’s hand to reassure him that he was still very much alive. Both Draco and Narcissa scowled when he told them about Lucius’ involvement in all those events, confirming his suspicion that they had known nothing about it.

Third year was comparably peaceful to relive, especially because he could tell the story with the premise that Sirius wasn’t actually a mass-murderer. The mention of Remus turning into a werewolf in front of them, without his Wolfsbane potion, elicited a small gasp from Draco, while his explanation of how he’d fought off the Dementors to protect himself and Sirius earned an impressed look from Narcissa.

Fourth year was harder to talk about. He told them about his fight with Ron when his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire, which caused Draco to scoff and claim that he would never have abandoned Harry like that. The thought made Harry smile, because he actually believed him. The first and second task were quickly explained, but when he got to the third, Harry’s tale slowed down. He never really talked about what had happened during and after the third task, except for that one time for the Quibbler. But Draco and Narcissa turned out to be excellent listeners, never interrupting, only prompting sometimes when Harry seemed to be lost for words. Haltingly, he told them about the maze, the portkey, and the graveyard. About Cedric. At that point Draco moved to his side and wrapped an arm around his waist, even as Harry continued to levitate some furniture for Narcissa to clear out the stuff underneath. He told them about how Voldemort had returned, about their fight, and how he’d gotten away.

“Well, and then there was last year,” he said, omitting the horrible summer holidays that had followed the Tournament, just like he’d omitted the rest of his summers.

He recounted how Umbridge had targeted him from the start, about the detentions and the blood quill. Narcissa bristled when she heard how Umbridge had tortured students, demanding to see Harry’s hand. He’d never seen her so angry before, so he quickly continued to tell them about the DA, about his vision that had saved Arthur Weasley’s life, until he finally arrived at the night Sirius had died. He fell silent then, unsure whether he was ready to relive all that.

“It’s alright, cub,” a voice said from the door, and Harry whirled around to see Remus and Severus standing in the hallway, listening. How long had they been there? Seeing Remus’ encouraging face—he settled down on the small couch they’d moved to the wall for now, Draco taking a seat next to him—Harry took a deep breath and continued. 

He described the vision Voldemort had sent him, how they had tried to reach Sirius through the Floo but came up with nothing. Then he went on to recall how Umbridge had captured them with her Inquisitorial Squad, which caused Draco to blush furiously again—it had happened several times during Harry’s stories, whenever he’d been involved in a way he now regretted.

“I’m really sorry,” Draco mumbled, his face in his hands.

“I know,” Harry replied smiling, taking Draco’s hands into his own. “Anyway, so Hermione managed to trick Umbridge and she got carried away by centaurs. Does anyone know what happened to her?”

Severus replied, “She’s been arrested, actually, for the mistreatment of students, abuse of a position of power, and use of an Unforgivable Curse on Miss Edgecombe.”

“Huh,” Harry hummed. She got what she deserved then.

Taking a deep breath, he went on with his story, growing more tense as it progressed from riding the Thestrals to the Ministry to finding the Hall of Prophecy, where they found the globe with Harry’s name on it and encountered Death Eaters.

“So, what did the prophecy say?” Draco asked. 

Harry hesitated. Dumbledore had warned him not to tell too many people about it, but these four people felt increasingly like family to him. He trusted them.

“It broke,” he replied, watching Draco’s face fall, “but Dumbledore showed me a memory of when it was first made, because it was actually made to him. By Trelawney.”

“Trelawney?!” Draco cried.

Harry nodded.

“She also made that prophecy about Wormtail back in third year, remember? She _is_ an actual Seer, as much as that surprises me,” Harry said quietly. He steeled himself, then went on to quote the prophecy:

_“ The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.”_

Complete silence followed, in which both Draco and Narcissa stared at him paler than ever, wide eyed and obviously horrified. Remus and Severus were sharing a thoughtful look, regarding Harry with a hint of sadness, but also a stubborn sort of determination in their faces.

“It can’t be,” Draco whispered, shaking his head. “It can’t just be your job, it’s not right.”

“Draco,” Harry began softly, but Draco jerked away, jumping to his feet.

“No! It _can’t be your job!_ Doesn’t Dumbledore care that you’re barely sixteen? Doesn’t he care that you’re just a bloody student, not an Auror? Doesn’t he care that you could _die?!”_

Draco didn’t wait for an answer, and instead stormed out of the room, Harry following him immediately with a heavy sigh. He caught up with him just as Draco wanted to slip into his room and grabbed his wrist to spin him around. The momentum of the movement caused Draco to stumble against the door-frame, which Harry used to his advantage, pressing Draco against it, holding him in place.

“Hey,” he said softly, his face barely an inch from Draco’s. He could feel Draco’s heart beat rapidly, though he wasn’t sure whether it was from anger, from storming up the stairs, or from their current proximity. His own heart was certainly reacting to that at least.

“It can’t be you,” Draco whispered and closed his eyes, his expression pained.

“I know, it shouldn’t be me,” Harry agreed. “But it is. There’s nothing I can do about it, Draco.”

He pressed a soft kiss to Draco’s lips, but it got no reaction. Suddenly, fear, guilt and hurt shot through him. He should’ve told Draco about this earlier, of course he wouldn’t want to be with someone who was practically doomed to die soon. Harry felt his heart crumble as he pulled away from Draco, his head hanging between pulled up shoulders to hide his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly as he turned away. “I understand.”

He’d only made one step towards his room when a hand wrapped itself around his wrist, spinning him back around.

“Excuse me, but what exactly do you understand, because I certainly don’t,” Draco hissed, angry again.

“I’m practically doomed,” Harry replied softly. “I get it if you’d rather not be with someone who might die at any moment. Besides, it’s not exactly safe to be close to me.”

Draco growled, actually growled, at him, grabbing him by his shoulders and pushing him backwards until his back hit the wall.

“You bloody _idiot!”_ he snarled, pressing a rough kiss to Harry’s lips. “I want to be with you, you absolute _moron_ , I’m just fucking _worried_ about you! _You_ might be used to a life of permanent danger—which is frankly fucked up in its own way that literally nobody ever fucking looked out for you and bloody well _protected_ you—but I’m not, okay?! I’m _not_ used to being a target of the fucking Dark Lord, except I guess now I am too, but even so you’re a hundred times more at risk than I’ll ever be! I—” His voice broke and his grip on Harry loosened. “I don’t want to _lose_ you, Harry,” he choked out, and Harry’s heart broke.

“Oh, Draco,” he murmured, bringing his arms up around the Slytherin and pulling him close. “I’m still here, alive and well, right? Remus is training me already, so I’m pretty decent at duelling now, Voldemort is gonna get a real fight at the very least.”

Draco shivered and Harry tightened his arms around him. He didn’t know what to say. He could hardly promise that he would survive, given that he was seriously doubting that himself. For a few minutes he simply held Draco, aware that the three adults one floor further down could probably hear their every word. Eventually, he lowered his arms and put his hands around Draco’s face instead, forcing Draco to look at him.

“Hey, how about we just go and relax a little?” he asked softly, giving Draco a gentle kiss.

Draco nodded and Harry pulled him into his room, guiding him to the couch where they usually spent their time together now, mostly reading and cuddling. He settled into his usual corner, positioning Draco to lean against him, Harry’s arms firmly around him again. For a while, they said nothing, until Draco finally took a few deep breaths before turning to look at Harry.

“I still don’t think it’s fair,” he began, his voice a little hoarse, “but I understand that you can’t do anything about it. Let me just make one thing painfully clear: If you decide to run into danger again like the sodding Gryffindor you are, you better bring me the fuck along from now on, understood? I’m a decent duellist, I can fucking help.”

“Draco, you can’t expect me to willingly drag you into danger like that, what if—”

“If it potentially saves your life, it’s bloody well worth the risk!” Draco shouted.

Harry sighed, but decided not to push the argument. He just hoped that by the time such a situation actually arose, Draco would be sensible enough to keep himself safe first. Slytherins were supposed to have strong self-preservation instincts, right?

“Alright, you can come along if I ever ‘run into danger like a Gryffindor’ again, okay?”

“Good,” Draco huffed.

Harry laughed softly and pressed a kiss to Draco’s temple. After a few more moments of silence, he dared to ask a whispered question.

“Are you still mad at me?”

To his relief, Draco snorted and shook his head.

“I was never mad at _you_ , you bloody dunderhead, I was mad at the prophecy for targeting you,” Draco drawled, his usual sass apparently slowly returning to him.

“Good,” Harry said, smiling. “Do you mind if I summon a book to read a little? With all the cleaning out I haven’t really had the time.”

“Sure, summon mine too?”

Harry smiled and wandlessly called the two tomes they’d been reading over to the couch. Wandless magic came to him easier every day, and it delighted him to no end, especially since it was a rare talent according to Remus. Shifting a little, Draco settled his head in Harry’s lap, holding his book above him, while Harry leaned on the back of the couch, holding his book one-handed and playing with Draco’s hair with the other. For the first time since he’d begun his story about that night at the Ministry, Harry felt the tension in his body ease away again.

They spent the better part of an hour simply reading, occasionally commenting on something in their respective books—Draco was devouring a book on advanced transfiguration, while Harry was still immersed in healing—but otherwise they didn’t talk much. When Remus knocked on Harry’s door to check on them, Draco didn’t even move. It made Harry feel all warm and fuzzy that they could show their affection for each other so casually now. He felt peaceful, almost serene.

It was too good to last.

The wards _burned_ , making Harry shoot upright instantly. Last time the wards had felt like that, Severus had arrived cut open and covered in blood. Ignoring Draco’s mildly offended confusion, he jumped off the couch and dashed to the door. Within seconds, he was halfway downstairs, when he almost ran straight into Severus coming out of his potions lab.

“What’s wrong?” Severus asked with a frown.

“Wards. Burning. Feels like injury,” Harry replied without stopping. He practically flew down the last few steps into the entrance hall, where he found himself staring at—

“Professor Dumbledore?” he asked, surprised. 

The headmaster gave him a tired smile, before his eyes flickered to Severus, who had followed Harry downstairs.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said, his voice sounding alarmingly weak, “I’m afraid I have been foolish and require your assistance.”

“What did you do?” Severus growled, stalking past Harry towards him.

“If I could sit down, that would be—” Dumbledore never finished his sentence, collapsing to the ground. Severus barely managed to catch him, but when Harry moved towards them, Severus motioned him away.

“Open the door to the library,” he grit out, as he tried to keep Dumbledore, who seemed to be at least semi-conscious, upright.

Harry complied and waited as Severus settled Dumbledore onto an old couch. Only now did he notice that one of Dumbledore’s hands looked rotten and black.

“Professor, what’s with your hand?” he asked, dragging Severus’ attention to it as well.

“Contineo,” murmured Severus, pointing his wand at the blackened hand. “What caused this? Albus? What triggered this curse?” Severus’ tone was urgent, and Harry began to grow worried. 

“A ring,” Dumbledore answered weakly, pulling something out of his robes and showing it to Severus. Harry couldn’t see it from where he was standing, but before he could go closer, Dumbledore had already closed his fingers around it again. The sound of steps announced Draco’s arrival in the doorway, looking confused. 

Severus had pulled out his wand and was casting numerous spells Harry didn’t know in rapid succession. Worriedly, he stepped closer, trying to understand what was happening. He was about to reach out to Dumbledore’s hand to inspect it, when Severus suddenly whipped his head around to glare at him.

“No! Stay away from him, don’t touch that!” he shouted, snatching Dumbledore’s hand out of Harry’s reach.

“I just wanted to take a look, maybe I could help!” Harry argued, his heart beating hard in his chest. Again he made to move towards them, but this time Severus whirled around completely, getting to his feet. Despite being the same height, he seemed to be towering over Harry.

“I SAID DON’T TOUCH THAT, BOY!”

Harry flinched violently and suddenly he couldn’t breathe, the edges of his vision began to blur and his heart was racing. Shouts were echoing in his ears, way too familiar, like they were etched deeply into his brain, repeating one word over and over. Instinctively, he shied away, trying to evade the strike that was bound to follow. Everything was blurry now and his ears were ringing. The man was still shouting.

“GET OUT! GET OUT, NOW! YOU TOO, OUT, BOTH OF YOU, OUT!”

Harry didn’t think, probably wouldn’t have been able to think if he had tried, he just moved. His first instinct was to dash to the front door, get out of the house and to safety. But the hallway was wrong, the front door wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Cupboard then, even if that meant being locked in—no, wait, he had a room now, didn’t he? But the cupboard wasn’t there either, and the stairs were in the wrong place. The ringing in his ears was getting louder and his lungs were burning.

“Harry!”

Thin fingers closed around his wrist and he jerked back, frantically trying to free himself of the unusually loose grip. 

“Please, no, not the belt,” he heard himself plead. “I’ll go away I swear! Please, Uncle Vernon, not the belt, I’m sorry—”

The hand around his wrist disappeared and he broke off, scrambling away from it. He staggered backwards into a wall, trying to orient himself.

“Harry look at me, please! Harry!”

The voice calling his name sounded distressed, worried. He knew it from somewhere, but it usually didn’t sound like that. Usually—

“Malfoy?” The word came out wheezing, as he was still gasping for air.

“Yes, Potter, it’s just me. Just Malfoy. Look at me, just look at me.”

It still sounded wrong, but Harry managed to focus his eyes with some effort, and his vision zeroed in on familiar silver eyes.

“That’s it, Potter, now—”

“Draco, what’s going on?” a female voice came from somewhere above Harry. It was vaguely familiar, but Harry wasn’t sure why. His vision blurred again when the silver eyes left his, and his chest constricted further. He had to get away, had to go _somewhere_.

“Oh no, don’t slip away from me, Harry, come on. Eyes on me.”

The words were almost drowned out by the droning in his ears. He felt soft, warm hands around his face and flinched away, but the hands moved with him. It took him a moment to realise that they weren’t hurting him. They were just there, soft and warm. His vision cleared a little and he found those silver eyes again, rooting him in place.

 _Draco_ , his mind supplied, and a wave of warmth went through him, finally loosening his chest up enough for him to suck in a real breath.

“Yes, that’s it, breathe. You’re okay, I’m here, just breathe.”

Harry tried, but his body wasn’t fully obeying him yet. Vague memories of feeling like this came back to him, memories of waiting for his heart to calm down in his cupboard, of running through Little Whinging until his legs gave out, of trying to breathe quietly behind closed curtains in his Gryffindor dorm. It would pass. It would take a while but it would pass. It was better than the alternative.

“Stay with me, Harry,” Draco ordered, and Harry focused on those silver eyes again. “Breathe with me, alright? In…and out. In…and out.”

Draco took one of Harry’s hands and pressed it to his chest. Suddenly, it was easy to match his own breathing to Draco’s, as he felt Draco’s heart beat under his fingers. Slowly, the world became clearer again, and Harry recognised Grimmauld Place. _Right_. He was at Grimmauld Place. Not Privet Drive. Draco kept his eyes locked on Harry’s and Harry lost himself in the swirling silver-grey irises. He didn’t know how long they stood there, but eventually, the ringing in his ears subsided and his heart began to slow down.

“He should lie down,” the female voice—Narcissa—said. “Bring him up here.”

“Harry, I need you to come with me, okay? Can you follow me? Just keep breathing and follow me, love.”

 _Love?_ Harry’s heart did a little flip at the word, as he let Draco guide him up the stairs and into the drawing room, where he was manoeuvred to sit on a big couch, Draco settling down next to him. Draco was still holding Harry’s hand to his chest. How had they managed the stairs like that?

“Harry, can you still hear me? Do you want to lie down?” Draco’s face was distorted with worry, and Harry frowned. He shook his head, opting instead for wrapping his arms around Draco and pulling him close. Immediately, Draco returned the embrace, nuzzling his face into Harry’s hair.

“You’re okay, love, I’m here,” he whispered, and Harry felt himself relax a little.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, as Harry’s heartbeat slowly returned to normal and his breathing evened out. Finally, it was quiet. No ringing in his ears, no racing heartbeat pulsing through his head, just Draco’s quiet breaths, in synchronisation with his own.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered against Draco’s neck.

Draco pulled back and gave Harry a scrutinising look. He almost looked a little angry.

“And what, pray tell, are you sorry for?” Draco asked, his voice confirming that he was definitely at least a little angry.

“Uh— For losing it like that?”

Draco furrowed his brows at that and shook his head.

“Don’t apologise for that as if you had any control over it. I know you don’t,” he said firmly.

“How do you know?” Harry asked. “And how did you know what to do? It’s never been over that quickly before.”

Draco frowned at him, then pulled him into a tight embrace again.

“Theo gets them too,” he explained, running one hand up and down Harry’s back. “I caught him once in the middle of an attack, back in second year. I had no idea what to do, so I got Madam Pomfrey. She explained that he was having a panic attack and then helped him to calm down. Ever since, whenever he gets panicky he asks me to pinch him, because that sometimes pulls him out before it really starts. And if it doesn’t work, I stay with him and do what Madam Pomfrey did, and it usually helps.”

Harry didn’t respond. He hadn’t ever thought about asking Pomfrey about it, but it sounded so logical now. They sat silently for a long moment, before Draco spoke up.

“Harry, who is Uncle Vernon?” he asked, his tone gentle and careful. 

Harry tensed immediately. 

“I’ve been wondering about how your family treated you since you mentioned that you never had your own clothes. Did they…hurt you?”

Harry didn’t respond right away. Draco sighed and tightened his arms around him.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he said softly.

Harry felt a lump form in his throat. For some reason, he wanted to tell Draco everything, but at the same time he wasn’t sure he could. He _never_ talked about the Dursleys, not even with his two best friends, although they knew more than most.

“I do want to,” he whispered. “But…I don’t know how. I don’t know what to say, where to start.” He pulled away a little to look at Draco. “I’ve never really talked to anyone about this before, ever. Not even Ron and Hermione.“ 

He trailed off and buried his face in Draco’s neck again.

“You can tell me anything, Harry, but I won’t force you to,” Draco promised. 

Harry nodded, collecting himself. With a deep breath, he pushed himself out of Draco’s arms. He pulled his knees against his chest, resting his chin on top, and tried to sort his thoughts, tried to figure out where to begin. 

“I don’t know how much you know about where I grew up,” he said eventually, “so I guess I’ll just start at the beginning. When my parents died, Dumbledore brought me to my mother’s sister and her husband, Petunia and Vernon Dursley. They have a son who is our age, Dudley. My mom and her sister were never close, mostly because Petunia hates magic. Vernon agrees. I’m honestly not sure why they even took me in, but they hated me from day one.”

He took a deep breath to steady himself. Draco reached out to touch his knee.

“It’s alright,” he whispered. And Harry continued.

He started by telling Draco again about never being given his own clothes and having to wear Dudley’s hand-me-downs despite them being way too big—he already knew about that. Then he told him how he hadn’t known when his birthday was for the longest time, because they only ever celebrated Dudley’s, never his, and how his Christmas presents usually consisted of tiny garbage items like paper-clips, while his cousin was drowning in presents. He told him about never being allowed to go on vacations with them, having to stay with Mrs Figg instead. He told him about all the little degrading things they’d done over the years to make him feel like he was worthless, like only calling him “boy” or “freak” and never his name, while praising Dudley to the moon and back. He told him how Dudley had bullied him, literally hunting and chasing him to use him as his personal punching bag.

Draco looked aghast and opened his mouth multiple times as if to interrupt, but Harry never gave him a chance. Now that he had started, he had to finish.

He explained about the cupboard, about how they’d lock him in there for days on end sometimes, without food. He told Draco how he’d generally never been allowed to eat what he wanted, even though he had been the one cooking the food most of the time, ever since he was still very little. He remembered how he had burned himself on the stove because he was too small to reach up properly.

At this point, Draco couldn’t hold back any longer. “Don’t they know _who you are?”_ he cried, outraged.

Harry shook his head. “They don’t care. They knew I was magical but they never told me. To them, magic is just abnormal and I am a freak.”

Draco gaped at him, speechless. Harry just shrugged and went on. He told Draco about the beatings. Not from Dudley, from Vernon. It started with an occasional slap across the face, when he’d done something Vernon considered abnormal, or when he couldn’t keep up with his chores, but it hadn’t taken long until a slap turned into fists and fists turned into a belt on a bare back.

“It got worse when I started to display accidental magic,” he said ruefully. “I didn’t understand what I was doing, because I didn’t even know magic existed, so I just tried to hide anything odd that happened around me as best as I could. It didn’t really work most of the time, so I spent a lot of time in my cupboard, only to be let out to go to the bathroom twice a day. At least, with missing so many of my classes, I didn’t have to deliberately fail tests anymore to avoid getting better grades than Dudley. And then my Hogwarts letter arrived, which was its own brand of disaster.”

He recounted how Vernon had tried to keep his letter from him to the point of abandoning their house, how Hagrid had found him, told him that he was a wizard and had taken him to Diagon Alley.

“The month after was both better and worse than most at the same time. Dudley was so scared of me that he left me alone completely. Vernon, however, seemed to think that he had to fit the punishment of an entire year into that month. But I had something to look forward to, so I made it through. I’ve only been back for the summer holidays since, and Ron and Hermione always sent me food so I wouldn’t be too hungry, so it wasn’t that bad. I mean, maybe apart from that first summer, when Dobby levitated a cake through the living room and they put bars on my windows and fed me through a cat flap. Ron and the twins broke me out with a flying car.” He laughed softly at the memory.

Draco stared at him incredulously, apparently still lost for words. Hesitantly, Harry reached out to him, letting go of his own knees as he moved towards a shell-shocked Draco. Suddenly, Draco seemed to come back to life, grabbing Harry and pulling him back into a tight hug, even tighter than before.

“I’ll kill them,” he whispered, as he held Harry close to his chest. “I’ll find them and fucking kill them.”

Harry couldn’t help it, he smiled. Something warm had settled in his chest and he was fairly sure if he had been a cat, he would’ve been purring. 

“They’re not worth going to Azkaban for,” he replied, returning Draco’s embrace and running a soothing hand up and down his boyfriend’s back. “I’d rather have you with me than locked up for an unnecessary case of triple-murder.”

Draco scoffed, but didn’t argue. Or maybe he would’ve argued, except a low, frighteningly dangerous sounding growl from the door had made them both turn around in alarm. Remus stood in the doorway, looking more furious than Harry had ever seen him, like he was ready to rip a human apart limb by limb. Next to him, slumped on a chair with a look of pure horror on her face and tears in her eyes, sat Narcissa.

 _Brilliant_ , Harry thought, suppressing a groan. Now they all knew. At least he wouldn’t have to repeat himself. When Remus moved, Harry flinched at the speed with which the man crossed the room, dropping to his knees in front of Harry and pulling him out of Draco’s arms and into a crushing embrace of his own.

“You,” he bit out, half growling, “are _never_ going _anywhere near_ that house again. _Never._ If I ever see any of those miscreants again, they will not see another sunrise, I swear it. _You_ are _mine_ now, _my cub._ Nobody will ever dare to touch you again.”

Even though he was startled, Harry felt a lump form in his throat at the ferocity with which Remus declared him to be his. Nobody had ever done that before.

A gentle hand settled on his shoulder and he glanced up to see Narcissa looking at him with an expression of grim determination. Her lips quirked into a half-smile as she told him, “I know I haven’t been in your life for very long, Harry, but my son holds you very dear, and I’ve grown to do the same. Anyone who tries to harm either of you will have to go through me.”

Harry tried to fight the tears welling up in his eyes, but it was pointless. He felt like every feeling of loneliness, pain and abandonment was being wrenched out of his chest, until it was all drained from him, until there was none of the cold left, but plenty of space for warmth. Narcissa gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, as Remus tightened his arms around him even further. He could feel Draco at his side, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he cried.

It took a while for him to calm down, as his mind replayed fourteen years’ worth of rejection and degradation. And now it was over. Just like that? He found it hard to believe, but at the same time he could _feel_ how serious they were about their words. He was breathing steadily now, trying to wrap his head around it.

He wasn’t alone anymore. He had a family. He even had an actual father just downstairs, tending to—

“Dumbledore,” he mumbled, pulling away from Remus.

“What?” Remus asked, furrowing his brows. “What about Dumbledore? He has some dire consequences coming his way, too, for leaving you there.”

Harry shook his head and Remus’ angry expression mixed with confusion.

“He’s downstairs,” Draco explained. “He apparated into the entrance hall, Harry felt the wards burn apparently, like when Sev came home injured. He asked for Sev, and he brought him into the library. There’s some nasty curse on his hand, and it was spreading. Harry was trying to help and— Well, that’s when Sev shouted at him and Harry panicked, which brought us here.”

Remus finally let go of Harry, and Harry quickly stood up.

“We have to check on them,” he said firmly, already moving towards the door.

Nobody argued. Instead, they followed him down the stairs and to the library, where the door was still closed. Harry didn’t knock.

Inside, Dumbledore was lying on one couch apparently asleep, Severus was slumped on the other, his face buried in his hands. His head snapped up at the sound of the door opening, regarding them with wary eyes.

“Is he going to make it?” Harry asked without preamble.

Severus nodded, but his expression was the opposite of hopeful.

“What’s the problem?” he prodded, unwilling to settle for half-answers.

“The curse is contained, for now, but it will spread eventually. It will kill him with time. There’s nothing I can do.” 

Severus buried his face in his hands again. The four newcomers stood stunned for a moment, then Draco broke the silence.

“You know, I really wish you people could settle on _one_ bad thing to happen per day,” he muttered angrily. “But no, first this fucking prophecy business, then you send Harry into a fucking panic attack, and now Dumbledore is dying. Isn’t that just a lovely Wednesday?”

“Draco!” Narcissa hissed. “Language.”

“Oh come on, seriously? The amount of shit that goes down all at once in this house sometimes is really disproportionate!” Draco cried.

“What do you mean, I sent Harry into a panic attack?” Severus cut in before Narcissa could argue back, his eyes flitting back and forth between Draco and Harry anxiously.

Draco glanced at Harry, as if asking for permission. Harry sighed and nodded, better to get it over with. Draco turned back towards Severus with a rather murderous expression.

“You yelled at him, called him ‘boy’ like his disgusting relatives used to,” Draco snapped. “He barely recognised me for a good five minutes, not breathing properly, before I finally got him to focus on me.”

Severus looked horrified, his face twisting with guilt. He looked at Harry.

“I’m sorry,” he said, getting off the couch. “I didn’t mean to yell, I just couldn’t let you near that curse, what if— What if it had transferred to you? What if it had latched onto you and I couldn’t have done anything to stop it?” He looked properly miserable now. “I didn’t mean to yell, I’m so sorry.”

Without thinking about it, Harry reached out to him, squeezing his hand quickly before letting go again.

“It’s alright, I’m fine now,” he assured him.

Severus’ face was frozen in surprise for a second, before turning into a sneer, as his eyes flew back to Draco, then to Harry again.

“What did those relatives of yours do that you have such a reaction to me yelling at you?” he asked, his voice hard and laced with cold fury.

Harry sighed. He really didn’t want to go over all this again.

“It’s a long story,” he mumbled, hoping Severus would just drop it.

One look into the man’s face was enough for Harry to know that he was absolutely not going to drop it. He was steeling himself to summarise the worst, when Remus saved him.

“I can tell him, if that’s alright with you, cub. You don’t have to explain it all again,” he said, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry nodded, relieved. Severus was watching them closely, his eyes still burning with questions and undirected anger. Suddenly, Harry felt a wave of affection for the man. His father. His father who had yelled at him, but only to protect him. His father who had apologised without hesitation when he realised that he had hurt Harry. His father who hadn’t even heard yet what the Dursleys had done, but looked ready to murder someone, all on Harry’s behalf. His father who…cared.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Harry stepped forward and quickly wrapped his arms around Severus, letting go again immediately, then turned around and left the library, along with a shell-shocked Severus, behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaaat, two chapters in one day? Yes, yes indeed, because NaNo is making me write 1666 words a day and I wrote two full chapters last night, meaning I get to update twice as well.  
> I’ve also been made aware that this fic has been recommended on Tumblr somewhere?! Like… what??! Whoever did that, thank you so so so much for your faith in this story, I can’t describe how honoured I feel and how grateful I am to receive such support <3  
> Now to the actual note for this chapter:
> 
> Alright darlings, remember that fluff chapter you got where they go shopping? This is the panic attack that was originally in that second half there. Somehow it felt like it fit better here, gives them some room to breathe before shit goes down again.  
> Also, naturally, the prophecy is taken verbatim from the books and is obviously not mine in any way.  
> As always, I do hope you enjoyed it and I’d love any feedback. :)  
> \- Z.
> 
> Special thanks to [DevilRising](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilRising) for beta reading!


	20. You Must Kill Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus asks Severus for a favour that might exceed Severus’ limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QUESTION:  
> As of now, the first part of this story is written (30 chapters), and I'm starting the second part. So far most chapters have been between 2500-7000 words. Now I would like your opinion for the second part -- should I...
> 
> a) ...keep this kind of chapter length, resulting in a larger number of total chapters in the end, but keeping up a similar update regularity as I had so far.  
> b) ...make the chapters significantly longer to reduce the total chapter number in the end, which will make updates come slower but you get more at once.
> 
> I personally like this kind of chapter length, but I also know that fics with a LOT of chapters can put people off, so I'd like to hear what you think in the comments.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter <3  
> \- Z.
> 
> EDIT: Option A has won almost unanimously, so the chapters will stay as they are now. Thanks to everyone for your input!

Severus was _seething_. If there had ever been a time for him to cast Killing Curses to rival the Dark Lord, it would be now. What Remus had told him about that wretched, godforsaken _bitch_ who called herself Harry’s aunt had woken a rage in Severus he hadn’t known he was capable of. She was Lily’s sister, Harry was her _blood,_ and she had not only contributed to years of humiliation and neglect, she had also done _nothing_ to protect him from actual, physical abuse. He wanted to dismantle her bone by bone, along with her monstrosity of a husband and disgrace of a son.

“Severus,” Narcissa said gently, reaching out to him across the dining table, but Severus pulled his hands away and glared at her.

“They will pay,” he grit out, his jaw so tense he could barely speak.

He had never been the type to throw a fit or to lose his cool. Instead, his anger boiled just under the surface, fuelling the formation of countless ideas for revenge in his head. One look at Remus confirmed that he was not alone with such thoughts. The wolf’s amber eyes had adopted a yellow glint, similar to the one he got around the full moon, and they were burning with wild anger. It would’ve been frightening if Severus hadn’t so wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment. Obviously neither of them had known how bad Harry’s childhood had been, and Severus resented himself for assuming that he must have been pampered as The Boy-Who-Lived. Now that the truth was out in the open, Severus could not let it stand.

“You won’t do him any favours by running off on a vengeance trip,“ Narcissa insisted.

Nevertheless, she seemed to be rather angry, too. After Harry had left the library—closely followed by Draco—Remus and Narcissa had led Severus to the dining room, sat him down at the table and told him Harry’s entire gruesome tale. The cupboard, the starvation, the beatings. How could they have let that happen? How had nobody known? Had nobody ever bothered to check on Harry in eleven years? When he asked as much, Remus shook his head dejectedly.

“I didn’t even know where exactly he was, only that it was with Lily’s relatives,” he admitted. “Dumbledore assured me it was the safest place for him to be, because it would grant him Lily’s protection through blood-wards. He insisted I stay away, that I let Harry grow up away from his fame, and he never told me _where_ he lived. I believed him enough that I never went looking. I was a fool.”

Albus Dumbledore. He had brought Harry there, _left him there_ for eleven years. Fresh fury shot through Severus, making his nerves tingle. He should’ve let the old man die from his cursed hand. Severus stood, prepared to march over into the library, reanimate the man forcibly and demand an explanation for it all, but Narcissa swiftly blocked his way.

“Sit down, Severus,” she ordered, her tone allowing no argument.

He glared at her, but conceded eventually, returning to his seat at the head of the table where Harry usually sat. Narcissa sat back down as poised as ever, always in perfect control of herself. Severus had always admired that about her, even back when she’d still been at Hogwarts. He’d had originally met her through Lucius, but in the end, she’d turned out to be the better friend and a much better parent to Draco. And despite the fact that her fiancé—and eventually husband—had been the opposite of discreet about his relationship with Severus, Narcissa had always been kind to him. But her kindness was not to be misinterpreted as weakness, the woman could be lethal if she so desired. Now, her anger seemed controlled, but Severus knew that this didn’t mean that she wouldn’t retaliate. Indeed, when she spoke again, Severus could practically watch a plan form behind her eyes.

“We must go about this carefully,” she said slowly. “Harry’s well-being must remain our priority. Yes, his relatives deserve to suffer, but their suffering can not cause more distress for Harry, and despite their horrible deeds, I’m unsure how he would feel about his father and his guardian flat-out murdering them. No, we have to find another way to repay them for their cruelty. A legal way.”

“What do you have in mind?” Remus asked, frowning.

“Well, we have more than enough evidence to accuse them of child abuse, both in the wizarding world and with the Muggle authorities. They know nothing yet of Harry’s newfound family, in fact, they might still suspect him to return home any day. They wouldn’t think to hide condemning remnants of Harry’s presence there, and once the authorities are at their door it would be too late. With enough evidence, they would be deemed unsuitable to look after a minor. We can take their son from them.”

Severus sat back and thought that over. It could work, but only if the evidence was truly damning, especially considering that they had apparently spoiled Harry’s cousin rotten, which the boy would undoubtedly insist on if asked. But if it worked, it would not only punish the parents but also their rotten child. A smile spread on Severus’ face. Yes, he’d love to see that boy thrown into an orphanage, where he was nothing more than one more mouth to feed. No special treatment, no mountain of presents, no second bedroom he didn’t even need. He would still live a hundred times better than Harry had, but maybe it would peg him down a notch.

“How would we do it?” he asked, and Narcissa’s eyes lit up.

For the next hour or so, they discussed various approaches to how they could gather enough evidence for the authorities to be forced to act, preferably without having to ask Harry for his memories as they didn’t want to force him to relive it all when giving them. Slowly, Severus’ anger abated and was replaced by concern for Harry, as well as guilt for his earlier outburst that had apparently triggered his son so badly.

“Should we check on Harry?” he eventually asked cautiously, unable to focus on revenge any longer as his worry grew.

Narcissa smiled.

“Draco will be with him, I’m sure he’s fine,” she said reassuringly, though it did little to ease the heavy feeling in Severus’ chest.

He itched to get up and do something, but most of his urges were out of the question. No murdering the Dursleys. No waking and confronting Albus. No checking on Harry, who would most likely not want to see him. 

Suddenly, a warm hand covered his and he looked up in surprise. Remus gave him a gentle smile, shaking his head slightly.

“I get it,” he said softly. “It’s not enough to just sit here, it feels like doing nothing at all. But Narcissa’s idea is perfect, we’ll have to be patient. For now, we should probably let it go, as much as that bothers me. Harry is safe now—or, well, he’s as safe as Harry can get—but he’s never going back there.”

Severus’ eyes flashed at the thought and he unconsciously gripped Remus’ hand harder.

_“Never,”_ he hissed.

“No, never,” Remus repeated reassuringly, giving his hand a squeeze. It grounded him a little, even if only by distracting him as the memory of seeing the man lying naked in a bathtub flashed through his mind, almost making him blush again. His eyes met Remus’ and for a moment he thought he saw a hint of hunger flit through them. It was gone too quickly to be sure.

Narcissa shifted, and Severus looked over to see her arching an eyebrow, her eyes going back and forth between him and Remus. He quickly snatched his hand back. It wouldn’t do for her to get a wrong impression.

For a few minutes they sat in a sullen silence, each lost in their thoughts. Eventually, Severus got to his feet with a sigh and went to check on Albus. To his surprise, he found the headmaster awake, sitting at the desk in the library and studying the ring that had cursed him.

“Will you tell me what this is?“ Severus asked, biting back his anger about Albus‘ involvement in Harry’s horrible childhood.

“It’s a ring,“ Albus replied without looking up. Severus rolled his eyes.

“I can see that, but it’s unlike you to let yourself be cursed by some flashy jewellery, so I‘m assuming there was something special about it. Should you even be touching that?“

Albus lifted his head and smiled at him, but his eyes were lacking their usual twinkle.

“Always so observant. There was indeed something special about it, but I‘m afraid I cannot tell you what. Rest assured, though, that it is quite safe now—the magic that was imbued in it was destroyed.“ He turned his attention back to the ring, seeming completely unbothered by Severus‘ obvious annoyance.

“You couldn’t have been sure of that when you arrived here. Why didn’t you call for me instead of showing up _here_ with an unknown curse swirling around you? What if it had latched onto Harry? You know how impulsive he is, _you_ encouraged him to be this way.“ Severus felt his anger rise again. “How much danger do you want to put him through? Is this your twisted way of preparing him to fight the Dark Lord? Maybe consider actually training him instead, rather than sending him into ridiculous situations that are far too dangerous for a boy his age.“

Albus smiled at him, the twinkle slowly returning to his eyes.

“Just two years ago you agreed with me on letting him participate in the tournament.“

“Well I‘ve changed my mind!“ Severus hissed.

He took a deep breath to calm himself again, to temper the boiling rage in his gut. Debating with Albus was usually fruitless, and despite his outrage on Harry’s behalf, the matter of this curse was not one that could be left for another day. Albus had to know.

“It is beyond my ability to fully remove the curse,” Severus began, switching topics abruptly. “I was able to contain it in your hand, for now, but it will spread eventually. It will kill you, Albus.”

Albus took that in calmly, barely showing any reaction at all.

“How long?” he asked eventually.

“A year, maybe less,” Severus answered quietly.

Albus nodded thoughtfully. Severus could practically see the man think and scheme and plan behind those twinkling blue eyes.

“Voldemort may have lost young Mr Malfoy, but he will no doubt try to find another way to kill me. We can not allow that to happen.”

“As soon as I learn who the Dark Lord has chosen, I will give you warning, as always,” Severus replied, but Albus shook his head.

“Avoiding to be killed is not enough. It is paramount that I die of my own volition; do not ask why,” Albus cut Severus off before he could even begin to speak, “you will not receive an answer. Trust me that it is important. Perhaps we can solve one problem with another, seeing how Voldemort already tried to task you with my murder. You must kill me, Severus. Before this curse does.”

Severus stared at him incredulously.

“By killing me, you would secure your position and gain his full trust, while simultaneously ensuring that my death is voluntary, it is a truly elegant solution. Once whoever the task of killing me is assigned to fails, Voldemort is guaranteed to turn to you either way.”

Albus smiled at him again and Severus bristled.

“You can _not_ be serious,” he shouted. “You can not ask this of me, this is the _worst_ idea you’ve ever had.”

“I beg to differ, my dear Severus, it is a rather splendid idea,” Albus insisted, staying infuriatingly calm. “With Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban, you are Voldemort’s closest advisor, but his trust in you is not as deep as it should be. Once I am gone, Voldemort will undoubtedly try to take over Hogwarts. I need you there to protect the students.”

“I am sure that can be achieved by other means! This is _madness_ , Albus, you can not expect this from me,” Severus retorted, his voice still raised.

“But I do expect it from you,” Albus said, his voice now gaining an edge. “You swore an oath to me, that you would do whatever is necessary to bring Voldemort down, or have you forgotten?”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten, but you can not just ask me to _kill you!_ ” 

The door opened behind Severus, revealing a concerned looking Remus.

“What’s going on?” he asked, eyeing them worriedly as he entered.

“He has lost his mind!” Severus cried, throwing his arms in the air. “Even if I were considering to do what you ask, how would I ever explain this to Harry?”

“Explain what to me?”

Severus whirled around to see Harry standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and his face set in a stubborn mask, Draco and Narcissa standing a few steps behind him.

“Harry, how good to see you,” Albus began pleasantly, but Severus talked over him.

“He wants me to kill him before this curse in his hand does,” he revealed dryly, shooting a glare at Albus.

All four of them gasped, Albus closed his eyes as if he was in pain. Severus could barely keep the outrage out of his face. Had he expected to keep this _secret_ as well? He would’ve been branded a traitor to the Order, effectively turning the entire light side of this war against him.

“It is the only way, Severus,” Albus insisted, apparently having regained his composure.

“Why?” Harry asked, his voice hard.

Severus looked up at him, at his son, and once more felt unsettled by how grown up Harry looked. This wasn’t a boy, not anymore. It made Severus’ heart clench when he thought about what must’ve happened for Harry to grow up so fast. _Albus,_ his mind supplied. Albus happened. Albus had allowed Harry to stay in an abusive home for eleven years, had allowed Harry to go off on reckless adventures far too dangerous for a boy his age, probably all in the name of preparing him to eventually fight the Dark Lord. Severus felt his barely subdued anger bubble up again.

“To ensure his position as our spy, to gain Voldemort’s trust completely, and to ensure that nobody else has to suffer the task of killing me—if he hadn’t gotten away, this task would’ve fallen to Mr Malfoy,” Albus explained.

Draco inhaled sharply, terror flitting over his features. Harry’s face betrayed no reaction at all, but he did reach out to Draco, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. If Albus was surprised by that, he didn’t show it.

“And what good would the Dark Lord’s trust do me if the Order believed me a traitor?” Severus argued, containing his anger as well as he could. “Judging from your reaction, you meant to keep this a secret, or am I wrong?”

Albus sighed.

“No, you’re quite right, I did want this plan to stay secret, but I can see that this is no longer an option. Still, the benefits remain the same. Once I am gone, we don’t know what Voldemort is going to do. We need someone he trusts, someone he holds in exceptionally high esteem, who could potentially stop him from doing irreparable damage to our war effort. We need someone who can protect Hogwarts, and given that you have resided there for sixteen years already you are likely to be chosen as headmaster once Voldemort takes control.”

Severus scoffed.

“As if I had any chance of dissuading him from his plans, trusted or not.”

“But you could _warn_ the Order, or Harry, whichever Voldemort is targeting.”

That made Severus pause. It was true, his position as a spy might one day very well be the only thing standing between Harry’s life and the Dark Lord.

“Why do you have to be killed in the first place?” Harry asked. “Why not live as long as possible until the curse runs its course? Are you even sure it can’t be removed? There might still be a way to heal you.”

Of course Harry would be optimistic. Severus suppressed a sigh, trying to find the right words to explain to Harry that certain things were truly irreversible and that he was sure that this curse was one of them.

“I’m afraid I can not give you a satisfying answer to that, Harry,” Albus said, smiling. It irked Severus, that everlasting smile.

“Of course not,” Harry spat, surprising Severus with how much contempt was apparent in his tone, “giving satisfying answers isn’t your style. You prefer to keep people in the dark, convinced that you know best, that they will play along nicely like puppets on strings because they have no other choice; because you don’t give them one by not telling them anything. I’ve had enough of your secrets, either you start talking _now_ , or you’ve lost your Chosen One.”

Four shocked faces stared at Harry, but he didn’t seem to notice, his eyes fixed on Albus, who only shook his head. Severus knew that Harry had been unhappy with how Albus had treated him during the past year—Remus had told him as much—but he hadn’t thought that his resentment went that deep. He felt a glimmer of pride. If anyone could stand up to the old meddler, it would be Harry—if only because Harry had unique leverage as the Chosen One.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I can not explain this to you, as much as I would like to. All I can say is that I assure you that this has nothing to do with you or your role in this war, and that I promise to reveal information that pertains to you immediately from now on. In fact, I was hoping to begin teaching you myself this year.”

Severus’ eyebrows shot up. Teach him? That was new. One look at Harry’s face confirmed that Harry was rather sceptical about this proclamation as well.

“Remus is teaching me already,” he said coolly. 

“And I do not mean to belittle your training with Remus in the slightest, but I still do believe it essential for you to also have some additional instruction from me.”

“And what would you teach me that Remus can’t?” Harry demanded, his face still hard.

Albus shook his head. 

“That, I’m afraid, is for your ears only.”

Harry studied Albus’ face for a moment, then answered, “Fine.”

Severus wondered what Albus would’ve done if Harry had refused, which reminded him of the request Albus had made of _him_ just before they’d gotten off track. Could he refuse? Albus’ argument of gaining the Dark Lord’s favour to enable him to potentially protect the Order and Harry was admittedly rather convincing.

“Do you trust me?” Albus asked, addressing everyone now. 

For a moment, none of them reacted. Severus saw Remus’ eyes flash with anger and he knew they were both thinking about Harry’s relatives, about the fact that Albus had left him _there._ And yet, did that truly ruin their trust in the headmaster completely? Severus felt decidedly conflicted.

“Yes,” Harry answered, his tone marginally softer now.

“Then allow me this one secret. I must not die from this curse. You, Severus,” Albus said, turning to face him, “you must kill me. Voldemort must believe you are wholly his, he has to trust you with everything. You swore it, Severus, whatever it takes.”

He closed his eyes, letting Albus’ words sink in. It could help him protect Harry.

“Alright,” he relented, “I will do what you ask. But it can not stay secret, not from everyone.”

“It already isn’t anymore,” Albus replied.

“Minerva needs to know,” Severus insisted. “If you truly believe that the Dark Lord would place me at Hogwarts after your death, I need Minerva’s support to keep the students safe.”

Albus regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded.

“I will inform Minerva; you have my word.”

Severus gave him a curt nod.

“Thank you, Severus,” Albus said, his eyes twinkling merrily.

“Don’t thank me if you’re not leaving me a choice,” he retorted, unable to bury his simmering anger completely.

“I apologise for that,” Albus replied, even sounding genuinely sorry. “I’m afraid there’s no other way.”

“Of course.”

A tense silence settled over the room.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Narcissa finally spoke up. Albus smiled at her.

“I would be delighted,” he said happily, and Severus smothered a groan.

Narcissa disappeared into the kitchen, while the rest of them settled into the dining room. The atmosphere was beyond tense, and it was odd to see Albus sit next to Draco, while Harry was at the head of the table. Fortunately, Narcissa had apparently chosen a dish that was prepared quickly, and only ten minutes later dinner was served. They ate mostly in silence, with Albus politely commenting on Narcissa’s cooking, as well as the dining room renovations.

“Have you found a new Defence teacher yet?” Remus asked suddenly.

Albus smiled and shook his head.

“Not quite yet, but I do have someone in mind.” 

Remus deflated a little, and Severus couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment. Having Remus back at Hogwarts sounded like a brilliant idea. 

“In fact, I was hoping you would assist me with recruiting our newest staff-member, Harry,” Albus continued.

Harry blinked at him in surprise.

“Me? How could I possibly help you with that, sir?” he asked sceptically.

“I believe you underestimate your influence,” Albus said kindly.

Harry hesitated a moment before nodding curtly, saying “Alright, what do I have to do?”

“I thought we could visit him after supper,” Albus replied.

“And who exactly are you going to visit?” Remus cut in, shooting Albus a piercing glare.

“Ah, I don’t want to jinx it by sharing that already,” Albus replied nonchalantly. It made Severus’ blood boil again. “Rest assured, though, that it is perfectly safe for Harry to accompany me, you have my word.”

Remus glanced over at Severus, and the both simultaneously gave a small nod. 

“Fine,” Remus agreed, albeit still sounding somewhat reluctant.

A few beats of silence passed by, then Harry seemed to remember something.

“Sir, I meant to ask you something,” he began. “Would it be possible to make the DA an official club? If war is at our doorstep, some extra defence training can’t hurt, right?”

Severus was once again caught by surprise. He hadn’t known Harry was thinking about reviving his club that he’d started to defy Umbridge. Albus was considering Harry carefully, and again Severus could almost see the wheels turning in the headmaster’s mind.

“Yes, I suppose that could be arranged,” he eventually answered. “Although you would need some sort of adult supervision, unless you would only want to teach younger years than your own. Have your O.W.L. results arrived yet?”

Both Harry and Draco shook their heads.

“Ah, I’m sure you will receive them soon,” Albus said smiling.

A few moments later, he set down his fork and turned to Harry, who was already finished.

“Shall we?”

Harry looked somewhat reluctant, but he got up without hesitation and followed Albus into the hall. Soon enough, the familiar sound of someone apparating echoed through the house, and Severus felt himself relax a little.

“Who do you think he’s going to hire?” Remus asked, looking at Severus.

“I frankly have no idea,” he replied tiredly. 

As every year, he had applied for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, but he had never heard back from Albus. He didn’t need to; he knew the answer would be no. The reasons behind Albus’ stubborn refusal were beyond Severus, but he knew better than to prod. Unlike Harry, he had no leverage to get the old meddler to tell him things.

After finishing his meal, Severus retired to his lab. Albus’ arrival had interrupted him in the middle of brewing some healing potions to replenish his stock. He vanished the ruined mass in his cauldron and set up his workplace to start over. Entranced in his work as he was, he didn’t immediately notice that Remus entered the room.

“It always impressed me,” Remus said, making Severus jump a little, “how good you are at that. It looks so complicated, but you never even hesitate.”

“It’s a matter of practice, as most things are,” Severus replied as neutrally as possible.

“Mmh, I suppose so,” Remus hummed. “I wanted to talk to you, about Albus.”

Severus turned to look at him.

“We both trust him,” Remus went on, “but after today’s revelations, I am not sure I trust him completely anymore, at least not around Harry. I know that due to your position as a spy you won’t be able to publicly treat Harry like your son, but I ask you to keep an eye on him at Hogwarts. He’s involved enough in everything as it is, I don’t want Albus to drag him in any deeper than necessary.”

Severus nodded. He’d had the same thought. While he didn’t believe that Harry was in immediate danger from Albus, it was clear that the headmaster was not exactly careful with which situations he let Harry walk into.

“I will,” he promised, stirring the mixture in his cauldron. “I hope Harry won’t try to avoid me once we’re back at the castle, that would complicate things.”

“I doubt that he will,” Remus said. “He’s warming up to you, I think. At least that’s what it looks like from my perspective. It might be slow, but it’s happening. And after what you told me of your conversation from last Sunday, he’s willing to forgive you, he just needs some time.”

“Yes,” Severus agreed softly. 

Time. Sixteen years, lost. What were a few weeks longer? At least he had a chance at all.

Remus stayed with him as he brewed, talking about this and that, and Severus found that he appreciated the company. Usually, he preferred to be alone for brewing, but Remus’ soft-spoken chatter was oddly endearing. 

Just when the potion was done, the sound of apparition echoed through the house again. Harry and Albus must be back. Remus and Severus made their way downstairs quickly to greet them.

“And? Was your recruitment successful?” Severus asked as they arrived in the entrance hall.

Harry gave him an exasperated look and Severus wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret that. Albus, however, was practically beaming at him.

“Indeed! Horace has agreed to return to Hogwarts,” he announced proudly.

Severus blinked.

“Horace? Horace Slughorn? But he’s a potions master, not a defence specialist,” Severus said, perplexed.

“Quite right,” Albus agreed happily. “Congratulations, Severus. You will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts next year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [PotionDaddy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionDaddy) for beta reading!
> 
> At long last, we’ve arrived at some canon-parallel plot. Well, ish.  
> To be honest: That one was a pain to write. For some reason conversations just didn’t sit right and I’m still not sure if I’m entirely happy with it. There were so many things I could’ve put in here, but none of it felt quite right, so I didn’t. Perhaps it’s just that the atmosphere of it got to me, because I imagine sitting there with Dumbledore to be rather uncomfortable for everyone, given the current situation. Either way, there it is, hopefully the next one is a little lighter.  
> Also, there’s a Hamilton quote in there, let me know if you can spot it ;)
> 
> As always thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it <3
> 
> Please don't forget to let me know your opinion on the question in the beginning notes!
> 
> \- Z.


	21. Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco have an overdue conversation about their past, present and future.

Harry had absolutely no desire to move, not when Draco was curled around him, his blond head nestled into the crook of Harry’s neck, an arm wrapped around his chest and a leg thrown over his thigh. It was still fairly early and Harry wished it would stay early forever so he could stay here, in his bed, cuddled up with Draco. Ever since their trip to Diagon Alley Draco had stayed in Harry’s room for the night, and Harry hadn’t complained; waking up next to Draco was probably his new favourite part of the day.

It had only been twelve days since Draco had found him that morning in the kitchen, twelve days since this thing between them had started. It didn’t feel like twelve days to Harry, not in the slightest. He couldn’t really explain it but for some reason he just _knew_ Draco. After spending five years watching him at Hogwarts, it really shouldn’t have surprised Harry. He knew little things, such as what kinds of food Draco liked, the face he’d make when he disagreed with something, the little twitch of his eyebrows when he was annoyed. He knew how Draco inflected his voice to get his point across, how he doodled on his notes sometimes, especially during Transfiguration because he seemed to be practically a prodigy at that. And that was just from their very limited and predominantly negative interactions at Hogwarts during the past years. In the month since Draco had arrived at Grimmauld Place, Harry had learnt a flood of things, even before they’d started sneaking into each other’s rooms—or, well, mostly Harry’s room.

Draco didn’t like to be ignored—nothing new, really. Draco showered in the evening, not in the morning. Draco could rival Remus in chocolate consumption. Draco played with the pages of the book when he was reading. Draco hid behind his pure-blood mask when he got emotional, although he did it less and less with Harry. Draco cared about people, a lot, despite his efforts to come across as cold-hearted. Draco actually didn’t mind people touching his hair—at least not when Harry did it. Draco stayed close to him when he woke from a nightmare, silently holding him until he calmed down. Draco did a thousand tiny things that made Harry smile.

Harry also knew how to decipher his moods by now, could tell when Draco tensed up or retreated behind his defences. Most of all, though, he knew so much more about what Draco truly thought about things. The day after Dumbledore had unexpectedly shown up at Grimmauld and Harry had revealed his past with the Dursleys, Draco had told him about his own childhood before coming to Hogwarts. About how Lucius had raised him to be the perfect Malfoy heir, disregarding almost all of Draco’s needs and wishes. Harry had simply listened, holding back any comments, so as to avoid derailing the conversation into something it wasn’t supposed to be. That talk had been about Draco and Draco alone. It all made a lot more sense now. 

Still, there was more to talk about, especially now that Harry’s birthday was drawing nearer. Originally, they—meaning Harry and Ron—had planned for Harry to go to the Burrow before his sixteenth birthday and spend the rest of his summer there. Now, with the situation being as it was, that was no longer an option. Not only would the Weasleys probably be rather unappreciative of Severus showing up once a day for his Occlumency lessons, but he also couldn’t really leave Draco, Narcissa, Remus and Severus behind to live here, in his house, without him. Besides, he didn’t _want_ to leave Grimmauld Place—both the house and the people felt like home to him now.

Nevertheless, Harry did want to see Hermione and the Weasleys. He had a lot to tell them. Once more, he wondered how they would take the news that he was Severus’ son. And the news that he was dating Draco Malfoy. He was almost more worried about that second part, since in the first he’d at least not had any say in the matter. Dating Draco, however, was something he chose. 

The twins were probably not going to question Harry’s choices, they rarely did, and the same went for Ginny. They might think it strange, but would ultimately trust Harry’s judgement. But explaining to Ron that Draco was not, in fact, a slimy git and a bully, but actually a rather wonderful person? He had no idea how to even get him to listen. Hermione might be slightly more understanding, but considering her personal history with Draco, even that was debatable. And then there was the history between the Weasley family and the Malfoy family as a whole. True, that animosity had come first and foremost from Lucius Malfoy, but Draco had perpetuated it, and Harry wasn’t sure how easily Mr Weasley would forget about such a feud. 

“Will you stop worrying so much?” Draco mumbled sleepily into his neck.

“How do you know I’m worrying?” Harry asked, laughing softly as Draco pulled back slightly to look at him with half-closed eyes. He gave him a soft kiss and Draco hummed happily.

“You went all tense the way you usually do when you’re worrying,” Draco replied, snuggling back into Harry’s side.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered and dropped a kiss on Draco’s hair.

“Are you going to tell me what got you so worked up?”

Harry sighed heavily. They’d have to talk about it eventually, but did he really want to ruin such a perfect morning? Really, that was the only reason why they _hadn’t_ spoken about it all yet. Every time it could have come up, it would have potentially ruined a moment that was far too wonderful to risk. It was truly astonishing how quickly their entire relationship had shifted from true animosity, to weirdly positive antagonism, to _this_. Maybe everyone felt like this in a relationship, Harry wouldn’t know, but somehow he doubted that. The way he and Draco fit together was…different. More. He’d certainly never felt anything like this for Cho, not even for Cedric, and his crush on Cedric had been much more intense than his feelings for Cho. 

No, being with Draco felt nothing like a crush, or even a new relationship. Being with Draco felt like coming home. Like all their fighting had just been some elaborately disguised lead-up to this, because it was undeniable that they had learnt a lot about each other through it. Sometimes Harry wondered whether it should worry him how sure he was about Draco, given that it was so new. Whether it was somehow not real, a delusion. But every time he even considered that thought, he came to the firm conclusion that it was very much real to him, and it seemed to be equally real to Draco. It was just…right.

“Harry?”

Harry started a little, looking back at Draco who was studying him questioningly. He sighed again.

“We should talk about some things,” he relented.

Draco’s expression darkened immediately, a mix between concern and anxiety. For all of Draco’s grandeur, he could be remarkably insecure. As if Harry would ever even consider letting him go again. No, as long as Draco wanted him, he’d stay, and hopefully one day Draco would know that. Unless Draco left first. Harry felt himself frown at the thought, and he quickly pushed it away. They had other things to discuss.

“It’s my birthday on Wednesday,” Harry began carefully, “and I was hoping to see Hermione and the Weasleys.”

As expected, Draco did not look pleased. He caught himself quickly though, and Harry could virtually watch his mask slide into place, turning him into the cold, haughty Malfoy heir.

“Well, then I suggest you go visit them,” Draco drawled.

“And spend the day away from you? I don’t think so,” Harry replied nonchalantly. Draco’s face softened immediately. “No, I wanted to invite them to visit Grimmauld. With the drawing room and the dining room all renovated, there’s enough space to host everyone.”

Draco’s face blanched.

“See, that reaction is exactly why we have to talk about this,” Harry sighed. “I know you don’t like them much, but they’re still my friends. The Weasleys are practically family, they took me in when I had nowhere to go that summer after first year. I—” He hesitated. “I want to tell them about us. I’ll have to tell them about Severus either way, what’s one more surprise? I just— I don’t like keeping secrets from them. Besides, Hermione would probably figure it out in no time, the woman misses nothing.”

“Aren’t you afraid of their reaction? They won’t like it.”

“Of course I am, but I’ll have to face it eventually, there’s no way around that. I’d rather tell them now and deal with it here, than watch Ron have a heart attack in the Great Hall.”

Draco studied him for a long moment and Harry felt uneasiness creep up on him.

“Would you rather keep it a secret? I thought— After how you suddenly just _showed_ everyone here, I thought you’d be alright with people knowing—” 

Draco hurriedly cut him off, “No! Of course I’m alright with people knowing, I’m just…apprehensive of the backlash.” He blushed a little. “I’m glad you want to tell them, though,” he mumbled, not meeting Harry’s eyes.

Harry gave a small laugh. “Why, if you’re so _apprehensive?”_

“Because it means that you’re not ashamed of me,” Draco said quietly, his words barely louder than a whisper.

Harry frowned and he gently grabbed Draco’s chin to make him look up at him.

“Why the hell would I be ashamed of you, Draco?” he asked, holding Draco’s gaze.

The blush on Draco’s pale cheeks intensified.

“‘Cause I’ve been a right git for the past five years. I know we talked about our history, but I haven’t exactly treated your friends any better. In some ways, I’ve treated them worse, especially Granger. And my father is a Death Eater, which isn’t exactly something to be proud of.” He sighed. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t want anyone to know that you associate with a Slytherin, with the son of a Death Eater—with me.”

“Draco, _my_ _father_ is a Death Eater,” Harry countered.

“Yes, but it’s not like you have a choice there. Besides, you won’t tell anyone about that either.”

Harry furrowed his brows, and for a moment he didn’t get what Draco meant. Then understanding kicked in. Severus was a Death Eater spy, if Voldemort heard even the slightest rumour that Harry might be his son, he would either demand that Severus bring Harry to him or loose trust in Severus immediately, potentially using him to get to Harry or even killing him on the spot. No, there was absolutely no way that their father-son relation could become public knowledge. For some reason, Harry felt a twinge of regret at that.

“I’ll tell the Weasleys and Hermione,” he insisted, unwilling to dwell on the confusing feelings rising in him.

“Yeah, I know,” Draco replied softly, looking away.

Harry tried to catch his eyes again, but Draco kept his gaze stubbornly on the sheets.

“Draco, talk to me, please.”

With a groan, Draco rolled onto his back, away from Harry, staring at the ceiling. Harry didn’t push further, he simply waited, propped up on one elbow, the other arm on Draco’s chest, where Draco immediately began playing with Harry’s fingers.

“I— I am afraid that if it comes down to me or them, you’ll choose them,” he admitted eventually, closing his eyes as if that would prevent anyone from hearing him.

“I would never leave you just because they think you’re—”

“You did before,” Draco interrupted, before covering his face with his hands and letting out a groan.

Ah, so that’s what this was really about. Perhaps it was time they talked about that, too.

“You mean back in first year,” Harry assumed.

Draco just nodded, still covering his face in obvious embarrassment.

“Draco, as much as I hate to say it now, but I refused your handshake because you were a little prat, not because of anyone else’s opinion. When we met in Madam Malkin’s—do you remember that? When we met there, you reminded me of my cousin. I was incredibly insecure after being thrown into a completely different world all of a sudden, and you were, well, an arrogant bully. And no, I shouldn’t have judged you so quickly, I know that. It was unfair to you and I’m sorry, but back then— Hagrid was the first person who was ever kind to me. That entire day at Diagon Alley, getting my stuff for Hogwarts with him, was like a dream come true, a dream in which I wasn’t ignored, yelled at, chased or laughed at, a taste of a life away from the Dursleys. And then I met you and you were just like Dudley; spoilt rotten, condescending, laughing at me because I didn’t understand your world at all. My first instinct was to get defensive.” 

He sighed and looked at Draco, who had finally taken his hands off his face, listening intently, shame clear in his eyes. “Then when I met Ron he was, well, _nice_ to me. It was a rather novel experience. He explained some stuff about Hogwarts to me, about the houses, and yeah, there I let his prejudice influence me, with how badly he talked about Slytherin. You came into our compartment and I recognised you, remembering that you were so sure you’d be a Slytherin, feeling so superior about it, and all I could think was that I didn’t want to end up living with people like Dudley again. So when you offered your hand in friendship, I refused, because I had just gotten away from a place where people looked down on me, I didn’t want to surround myself with that again. I’m sorry I judged too quickly, I truly am, but—”

“No,” Draco cut him off. “No, you were right. I _was_ a little shit back then, and _I’m_ really sorry for— Well, for everything I did and said that made you feel mocked or looked down upon. I didn’t exactly have the best social skills, and I’m fairly sure I still don’t, not in a healthy way at least. I understand why you rejected me, now. I didn’t back then though. My father raised me to believe that, as a Malfoy, I was inherently superior, entitled to the best. When you rejected me…it threw everything I knew and relied upon overboard. Believe it or not, I genuinely wanted to be your friend.” 

He blushed a little. “You were…interesting, and not just because you’re Harry Potter, but because of how _genuine_ you seemed to be. But then you chose Weasley over me, someone I’d been told was leagues beneath me, and I didn’t understand. First I was just confused, but when my father’s reaction was nothing more than flat-out disappointment, I began to resent you. I resented you and I resented Weasley and Granger, because you had something with each other that I never had: Actual friendship. I was jealous and I fucking despised all of you. So I lashed out, because if I couldn’t have _that—_ if I couldn’t have you—then I at least needed my father’s approval. Not that I hadn’t been desperate for his approval before, but it somehow just…played itself up more and more.” 

Draco looked at Harry pleadingly. “I’m sorry, I really am. Not just for how I’ve treated you, but for how I treated people in general. It got better after I got somewhat close to Pansy and Blaise.”

“What about Crabbe and Goyle?” Harry asked before he could stop himself. He hadn’t meant to interrupt, but Draco just scoffed and went on undeterred. 

“Vince and Greg aren’t particularly articulate company,” he said bitterly. “We only spend so much time together because we’ve known each other since we were children. We’re not really friends as much as they need someone to tell them what to do, since their fathers never bothered to teach them how to think for themselves.”

Harry hummed in understanding, playing with Draco’s fingers.

“I was such an idiot,” Draco went on, his voice barely audible. “It took me way too long to realise what an utter arsehole I was being, and by then it was far too late. By the time I started to question my father’s views, you already hated me with good reason. All of you. Even when I grew to disagree with my father’s ideas, it’s not like I actually had the guts to go against his wishes—I kept up the act, afraid of his reaction if I didn’t. And now even though _you_ don’t hate me anymore, they still do and they still have good reasons.”

“If you apologise to them I’m sure—”

“Not everyone is like you, Harry,” Draco said, shaking his head. “Not everyone is as forgiving as a fucking saint. I called Granger slurs for years, I told her that I hoped she’d die!”

“Draco—”

“No! What if they can’t accept it, if they don’t believe that I’m sorry, that I’ve changed—am changing? What if they make you choose?” Draco sat up, pulling his hands away from Harry’s, staring at him with a somewhat frantic expression. “What if it’s them or me?” he whispered, and the mask dropped completely, revealing just how afraid Draco really was.

Harry pushed himself up and reached out to cup Draco’s face. He understood the fear, he was worried about their reaction too, but contrary to Draco he trusted them enough to know they would probably come around. And if not—

“If they make me choose, I choose you,” he said firmly.

Draco’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened almost comically. Harry smiled.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am perfectly serious,” Harry insisted. “You know why? Because if they make me choose, they’re not the people I thought they were. Why would I choose someone who tries to keep someone I lo— care about out of my life?”

Harry felt his face flush and he hoped Draco hadn’t caught what he’d almost just said. God, what was wrong with him? Why would he say—

Draco kissed him so suddenly that Harry lost his balance and fell back into the pillows. It wiped his mind blank for a moment. Merlin, would he ever get used to kissing Draco? He seriously doubted it—it overwhelmed him every time, even though they were taking things _very_ slow. While most of Harry’s initial shyness was well gone by now, they still hadn’t moved past snogging, although Draco certainly didn’t seem to mind when Harry’s hands wandered under his shirt. Fortunately, Draco had not yet tried to do the same, and Harry wasn’t sure how he’d react once he did. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Draco to touch him, quite the contrary, he was _dying_ for Draco to touch him. It was that he feared Draco’s reaction to what his fingers would find on his back, the consequences it might bring. _Freak._ More than once he’d shied away from the glorious friction Draco’s body could’ve provided against his hardness, simply because he knew that it would ultimately lead to stripping his shirt. But the worry of Draco eventually being fed up with his hesitancy was growing with every day. 

For now, though, Harry’s mind was occupied entirely by the feeling of those ridiculously soft lips on his, every movement sending jolts of heat down his spine, pooling in his abdomen in a tight ball that he fought to ignore. Draco’s eyes were dark when they finally broke apart, burning with an intensity Harry knew by now but it still made his breath hitch.

“Hi,” he breathed.

Draco laughed, dropping his forehead to Harry’s as he was catching his breath. “Hey.”

Harry wrapped his arms around him and pulled him down until he was lying on top of his chest, his forehead nuzzled against Harry’s temple. For a while, they said nothing, and Harry simply drank in the warmth radiating from Draco’s body on top of his as he waited for his heart to calm down and the heat in his groin to subside. Eventually, Draco pulled back, dropped another kiss on Harry’s lips and rolled off him just enough so he could comfortably look at him.

“So, we’re giving the Weasleys and Granger the shock of a lifetime on your birthday. Alright,” he said, giving Harry a smile that seemed only the slightest bit forced.

Harry beamed at him. “You’re sure?”

Draco nodded with a heavy sigh. “I knew what I was in for, didn’t I? Might as well get it over with all the apologies I have to make.”

Harry kissed him instead of answering. He’d never been the best with words, and although his eloquence was improving steadily, some things were just easier to put into a kiss than into words. Draco hummed happily, and when they parted again his silver eyes were glazed over. Harry felt that someone should be proud of his self-control for not immediately snogging Draco again.

“I guess I’ll write to them, then,” he murmured smilingly against Draco’s lips, before giving him one last peck and getting out of bed. He summoned a set of clothes, comparably comfortable ones, although nothing compared to a pair of joggers, and went into the bathroom to get ready for the day. A quick shower and teeth brushing later he walked back into the bedroom, rubbing his hair with a towel, to see Draco still curled up under the covers.

“Come on, Draco, your mother will have breakfast ready soon.” He pulled the blanket down.

Draco groaned and shot Harry a glare, but eventually rolled off the mattress and disappeared in the bathroom. Harry’s bathroom. He had to suppress a smile. Of course Draco had immediately started to use his much larger and more luxurious bathroom once he’d been given the option. Over the past week a startling number of bottles and vials had found their way into the shower, onto the shelf above the sink and the edge of the large bathtub. Harry hadn’t touched any of them, unsure of whether he truly wanted to risk that.

Setting the towel aside, Harry sat down at his desk, pulling out two pieces of parchment. For a moment he just stared down at the empty sheets, feeling stuck. What was he supposed to say? He shook himself and pushed his lingering worry away. Resolutely, he dipped his quill into the ink-pot and began to write.

> _Dear Hermione_
> 
> _I am sorry I haven’t written in a while, there has been a lot going on. I am glad to hear you’re doing well and are enjoying your summer. Yes, I’ve done my homework, believe it or not. Not being stuck with my relatives for the summer is truly a dream come true. I even found some books here that are quite interesting, they’re about healing magic. It’s a shame there’s no elective for that at Hogwarts, it’s by far the most fascinating thing I’ve ever learned about. Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon to involve runes or more complicated equations that I believe could be arithmancy? You wouldn’t still have some of your old books on those subjects, would you? If you do, I’d love to borrow them sometime, maybe they could help me make sense of things a little better. Besides that, Remus has started giving me duelling lessons. He is doing well, too._
> 
> _Now, as you know we once planned that I’d go to the Burrow before my birthday and then spend the rest of my summer there with you and Ron. I’m afraid plans have changed a little. As you know, some things have happened since term ended that I can not tell you about in a letter. Due to the resulting situation, I’ll stay where I am now until the new term starts. However, I would love for you to come visit me here on my birthday—you and the Weasleys, although I’ll obviously send a letter to Ron as well. Since the building is under a Fidelius charm, you probably couldn’t even read the name of it, but I’ll ask Dumbledore (he’s Secret Keeper) to give you the address._
> 
> _I truly hope you can make it. There is so much to tell you all and I’d prefer not having to do it twice. I miss you and hope I see you next Wednesday._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Harry_

He read over the letter twice, overall quite satisfied with the outcome. It hinted at big news, which was hopefully enough to somewhat prepare her for the impending shockers, while not making it sound negative. It was as good as it got, and with a little luck, she’d be distracted by his sudden interest in healing and runes and arithmancy. Perhaps that would be the biggest shock of all for her.

He chuckled, then set to penning a similar letter for Ron, with less academics and more Quidditch talk. When he was done, he could join Draco on the couch for all of five minutes before Narcissa’s chiming charm called them down for breakfast.

The following two days Harry felt a constant lingering tension in his gut, as he waited for replies from Ron and Hermione. When Hedwig finally returned on Sunday evening Harry took the letter off her so hastily that she hooted at him offendedly. After apologising to his owl, feeding her a few treats, he immediately ripped the letter open. It was from Hermione.

A grin stretched over Harry’s face. “They’re coming!” he announced to his four housemates sitting around the dining table.

“All of them?” Severus asked.

“All of them,” Harry confirmed, face beaming.

To their credit, both Severus and Draco hid their cringes almost perfectly, and Harry could not be bothered to care. As much as he loved his life here at Grimmauld Place, he missed his best friends and almost-family. Although, he supposed he had two almost-families now—the Weasleys, and the five of them currently sitting in this dining room. What an odd assortment of people to become something resembling a family, but for some reason it worked. Now those two almost-families just had to work together somehow as well.

By Tuesday afternoon, Harry was thrumming with tension. He was so antsy that Draco had thrown him out of Severus’ potions lab, where he was currently brewing some sort of lotion. Probably the secret behind his perpetually perfect hair. Feeling restless, he decided to join Narcissa instead, who had refurbished the library with new couches and a large mahogany desk with elegant chairs in the middle of the room, and was now in the process of replacing the wallpaper on the few bits of wallspace that were not covered in dark wooden bookshelves. She smiled at him as he entered, shuffling to the side a little so he could stand next to her, facing the to-be-renovated wall.

“Nervous?” she asked, her tone kind.

“You could say that,” he mumbled back, lifting his wand and joining her in ripping down the old wallpaper.

“What are you most afraid of could happen?”

He hesitated. What _was_ he most afraid of? There were a number of things that could go wrong, ranging from practically bound to happen to very unlikely, and from almost amusing to utterly devastating. Unfortunately, severity and likelihood did not align at all in this case. In fact, the mildest reaction—surprise followed by acceptance—was among the least likely. 

“I don’t know, that they hex each other into oblivion?” he tried to joke with a wry smile.

Narcissa didn’t laugh. He sighed.

“Fine, I don’t think they’ll outright kill each other, although the possibility that Ron and Draco end up duelling _is_ an actual concern,” he admitted. “I— I’m mostly afraid that they’ll turn their backs on me. For various reasons. I have a father now, so why should the Weasleys still see me as part of _their_ family, too?”

Narcissa smiled, saying, “I’m certain they won’t simply abandon you, judging from all I’ve heard about them. They clearly care for you, they wouldn’t just _leave_ because there are other people in your life too.”

Harry hesitated, unsure whether it was wise to voice his thoughts. Concern flickered over Narcissa’s face, and she waved her wand at the door to let it fall shut before erecting a silencing charm.

Then she pulled Harry away from the wall they’d been working on, made him sit down on the couch and asked again, “What are you _really_ afraid of?”

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. Over the last few weeks he’d come to learn that the woman seldom missed anything, and he wasn’t always sure whether he found it impressive or slightly terrifying. It felt like it was impossible to have any secrets from her, which wasn’t something he was used to. It felt like— like having a mother. Harry blinked, surprised by his own thoughts. His relationship with Narcissa felt so different from the one he’d built with Mrs Weasley, who had so far been the closest thing to a mother to him. The sudden realisation of how much he’d come to rely on Narcissa’s presence just amplified the worries he was so hesitant to voice.

She gently put a hand on his knee, reassuring him, “You can tell me anything, nobody else will hear, and I will not judge you for your fears.”

He sighed, then willed himself to speak.

“I’m worried that either of you will turn your backs on me. Yes, I’m scared that the Weasleys won’t see me as part of their family anymore, but I’m also afraid that if _they_ continue to view me as one of them, the sort-of family that has been forming here will just…dissolve. What if Remus thinks that I’m better off with Mrs Weasley to act as my guardian, what if he realises that he doesn’t _have to_ be here and leaves? What if Draco realises that he doesn’t want to deal with nine Weasleys for the rest of— What if he decides it’s not worth the trouble? What if Severus—”

He cut himself off, biting his lip. Narcissa smiled, her eyes glimmering knowingly.

“You’re afraid that Severus is only trying to build a relationship with you out of a sense of duty,” she continued in his stead. “A sense of duty that might disappear once he witnesses that you already found a surrogate family, and that said surrogate family isn’t about to abandon you. You’re afraid we will all clear the field for them if they don’t shun you, that you can’t have both either way.”

Harry’s stomach dropped at her blunt summary of his fears. He nodded numbly, trying to breathe normally.

“Harry,” she said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder, “do you really think that Remus would abandon you? That Draco would? Or I or Severus?”

He bit his lip again.

“I— Probably not Remus,” he acquiesced.

She arched her eyebrow at him, silently daring him to stop there.

“Or Draco,” he mumbled, blushing slightly, but she continued to stare him down until he finally rolled his eyes and added, “Or you.”

She smiled at him proudly, and he felt his chest loosen a little.

“So,” she concluded, “your main worry is Severus.”

He buried his face in his hands with a groan and nodded.

“As I recall he has made many efforts to try to get closer to you.”

“Yeah, because he feels like he has to. He _hated_ me for five solid years, that can’t just be gone all of a sudden,” Harry countered.

“You hated him, too,” Narcissa reminded him. “Do you still?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then why is it so hard to believe that his feelings have changed as well?” she asked.

“Because!” Harry half-shouted, jumping to his feet. “Because maybe I’m just so bloody desperate for a family that— Oh I don’t know, it just is.”

She studied him quietly as he began to pace the room, trying to get rid of his restless energy.

“Do you love him?”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks.

“You said you don’t hate him anymore, but do you actually want him to be your father? To act like he’s your father, to treat you like a son?” Narcissa prodded.

He turned to face her. She was still studying him, pale eyes fixed on his face, and he didn’t know what to say. Slowly, he returned to the couch and sank back down next to her, staring at the floor. The silence stretched for several long moments before he finally spoke.

“It wouldn’t be possible anyway,” he said quietly, “not while he’s still a spy for the Order. Nobody can know that he’s my father, it’s already a huge risk to tell the Weasleys—but they’ll keep quiet, they’re part of the Order, they’ll understand the importance of it.”

“I didn’t ask whether it would be possible, I asked whether you would want it,” Narcissa replied gently.

Harry closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Does he know that?”

He gave her a flat stare. She chuckled softly.

“I’ll take that as a no,” she said, smiling gently. “Have you considered telling him? Perhaps he is just as unsure as you, waiting for you to make a step.”

Harry hesitated, chewing his lip. The truth was that she was probably right. He probably should tell Severus how he felt, perhaps it could be so easy. But he couldn’t be sure, and he didn’t want to find out the hard way whether he’d be able to deal with a rejection from his father. _His father_. A thing he’d dreamed about his entire life, resigned to the idea that he’d never get it. And now that he had a chance at it, he was terrified.

“I’m not sure I can,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve never had parents, but that was because they were dead. I’m okay with that, I’m used to being an orphan because my parents just _died_. Tragic, it bloody well sucks, but I can deal with it. Have dealt with it my entire life. But if— If he rejects me, I’ll be an orphan because I’m _not wanted_. And I’m not sure I could deal with that.”

“I don’t think he’s going to reject you,” Narcissa insisted. “He’s trying to give you time and space because he doesn’t want to pressure you, that’s the only reason he’s keeping his distance.”

Harry sighed heavily. Perhaps she was right.

“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll talk to him, soon. First we have to survive tomorrow, without casualties if possible.”

“It’s going to be alright, Harry,” Narcissa assured him. “Although I did mean to ask you something, before I forget: Would you mind if I called just two or three of our house-elves in for help tomorrow?”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“House-elves? Why would you need more house-elves?”

Narcissa laughed. “Have you ever prepared food for fourteen people?”

He blushed, but countered, “Can’t Kreacher help you?”

“Kreacher is useful for small errands, but he is old and not the most thorough when it comes to hygiene. I have not asked him to cook for us since the third day after arriving here.”

“Oh.” Harry felt a slight twinge of guilt about never helping Narcissa with cooking, he’d assumed that the house-elf did most of the work. “Uhm, yeah, I guess if they stayed here with us and promised not to tell anyone anything about this place or the Order, it would be alright. Would they be able to get through the Fidelius charm?”

Narcissa nodded. “I think so, house-elf magic is different from ours. Shall we test it?”

Harry gestured for her to proceed, and Narcissa called for three of her house-elves. With three soft pops, the little creatures appeared promptly in the library, bowing deeply to Narcissa.

“Kibsy, Pipsy, Minny, this is Harry Potter,” she introduced, “he’s the Master of this house. I want you to obey his orders as you would mine.”

Harry gaped at her as she continued to instruct the elves about the importance of secrecy regarding Grimmauld Place and anything they might hear here. When she finally dismissed them, all three elves bowed to her, before bowing equally as deeply to Harry. After they’d disappeared, he turned to Narcissa disbelievingly.

“Why did you do that?” he asked amazed.

“Do what?”

“Make them obey me,” he clarified.

“Because this is your house,” she replied with a smile. “Its servants should obey you. Not that they wouldn’t have obeyed you either way, but this way your word is stronger than that of other people—besides mine that is. But I doubt you and I will ever give them such contradictory orders that this would become an issue.”

“You practically gave me three house-elves!” he exclaimed, eyes wide.

She laughed. “Consider it an early birthday gift. Now, shall we finish this wall before I go and make dinner?”

He shook his head in exasperation. That woman.

“Sure, let’s get it done,” he conceded, and they resumed their work on the wallpaper. 

After a few beats of silence, Harry noticed how much calmer he felt. He couldn’t help but smile. To be surrounded by supportive people sure was something he could get used to.

He glanced over at Narcissa and murmured, “Thank you.”

She gave him a bright smile. “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, was about time to have some of these conversations. Good thing Harry has Narcissa looking out for him, she really doesn’t miss a thing.
> 
> Even though NaNo is still going, I've been a bit slower with writing the last couple days, but I hope to get back into it properly now. Unfortunately, assignments and exams are also drawing nearer and if I'm unlucky I won't be able to do NaNo till the end. But I'll try!
> 
> As always thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! <3  
> \- Z.


	22. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco gives Harry his first birthday present and sees the reminders of Harry’s past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: mentions of child abuse, description of scarring

Draco watched as the clock crawled towards midnight with excruciating slowness. He had finished brewing before dinner and spent the last few hours curled up on the sofa in Harry’s bedroom reading a mystery novel he’d found in a corner shelf in one of the unused bedrooms. As much as he enjoyed reading about transfiguration, potions, or charms, sometimes he just felt like something non-academic. 

Harry had his head in Draco’s lap, entranced in his favourite book—the one in which he’d found that wandless form to heal Severus. Sometimes, Draco wondered if Harry was ever going to read anything else again. But despite his apparent focus on the text, Draco didn’t miss how Harry’s eyes flickered to the clock in regular intervals. They were both waiting for it to strike twelve, for Harry to turn sixteen.

Draco’s stomach fluttered as he thought about the present hidden in the bookshelf. He had almost lost his mind over what to give Harry for his birthday until he finally bit the bullet and asked Remus for help. He’d come to appreciate the man now that he knew him better. Unfortunately, Remus hadn’t been able to tell him anything that Draco hadn’t already considered: something to do with healing, defence magic, Quidditch, or something personal. In the end, Draco had decided to just do both—one regular gift, for when everyone was visiting, and one personal gift, just between them. Said personal gift now sat between two thick books, covered by a concealment charm and waiting to be summoned as soon as that damned clock finally reached midnight.

At two minutes to midnight, Harry suddenly stood, earning a startled look from Draco as he stalked over to the window and opened it.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, mildly confused.

“I used to wait until midnight the night before my birthday to make a wish, because that’s when I was by myself, away from the Dursleys. I told Ron about it once and ever since then people usually sent my birthday presents to arrive around midnight, so the Dursleys wouldn’t notice. It’s turned into somewhat of a tradition, though I guess this year there won’t be anything since everyone is coming here tomorrow.”

He flopped back down onto the sofa next to Draco, wordlessly worming his way under Draco’s arm, snuggling into his side. Draco laughed softly, pulling Harry closer and dropping a kiss on his hair.

“Well—” The clock struck twelve. “—you still get at least one midnight present this year,” Draco declared, grabbing his wand and summoning it from the bookshelf.

Just as it landed in his hands, however, a tawny owl came gliding through the open window and dropped a small package wrapped in brown paper into Harry’s lap. His green eyes were sparkling with such childlike joy at such a shabby looking thing, Draco wanted to kiss him senseless right then and there.

The package turned out to be from Hagrid; a book about magical creatures. Harry looked decidedly guilty.

“I am not even continuing his class! He’s going to be heartbroken,” he whined, but Draco shook his head.

“You shouldn’t stay in a class just because you like the teacher as a person, he’ll understand,” he said, taking the book out of Harry’s hands and putting it away on the coffee table. “Now this,” he continued, holding out the small leather box, “is only half of your gifts. It’s not even a proper present; you’ll get one of those tomorrow—or, well, later today—with all the other presents. It’s, er, a little personal—”

He trailed off, face flushing a little. Harry was eyeing the box curiously, clearly intrigued. Draco held his breath as Harry flipped up the clasps to open it—and gasped. The nervousness coiling in Draco’s stomach amplified and he had to hold back from starting to babble.

_Stupid idea, why would he want that?_

Because it could be useful. Right.

Draco opened his mouth to explain, just as Harry breathed, “It’s _beautiful_ , but Draco— There’s no way this didn’t cost way too much to give to _me._ You can’t just spend—”

He broke off when Draco let out a short laugh.

“It’s a family heirloom, darling,” he said with a smirk. “That’s why this isn’t your actual present, but I wanted you to have it either way. You see, that bracelet has a counterpart.” 

He summoned the second box from the shelf, opened it swiftly, and showed it to Harry. Inside was a silver bracelet; metal woven like rope, a solid piece of silver with intricate carvings encasing the middle, and a smaller tube of silver hiding the clasp on the other side of it. It was a perfect match for the one he’d given to Harry, the only difference between them being that the pattern was mirrored, and Harry’s was pale gold instead of silver. Harry watched him wide-eyed as he took the silver one out of its box and fastened it around his own wrist.

“May I?” He reached out to Harry, who let him wrap the golden rope around his wrist. It looked stunning against his warm-toned tan skin. “They are a pair, connected by a spell.”

“What kind of spell?” Harry asked, apparently having snapped out of his stupor.

“Well, it has several functions,” Draco replied, getting slightly nervous again. “First of all, there’s a two-way tracking, meaning that as long as we’re wearing those we’ll always be able to find each other. Hold on—” He tapped Harry’s bracelet with his wand and Harry’s eyes widened.

“I— I can feel you. I can feel where you are?” Harry murmured astonished.

Draco nodded. “If you apparated now, the bracelet would lead you directly to me. But that’s not all.” He tapped his own bracelet with his finger this time, activating it. Harry inhaled sharply when the golden metal pulsed softly against his wrist. “Admittedly, it doesn’t allow for particularly elaborate communication, but simple signals are possible—for example in an emergency, which we both know isn’t entirely unlikely to occur in your case.”

Harry had the decency to blush at that, and gave Draco an apologetic grin.

“It will also pick up on certain emergencies by itself, like if you fall unconscious. I know it’s a little…unconventional, but I thought it could be useful and—”

“Draco, I love it,” Harry interrupted, smiling brightly now. Setting the box aside, he leaned towards Draco and captured his lips in a kiss. 

Draco smiled, then quickly added, “You’ll get your actual gift tomorrow, but I wanted to give you this in private—”

“Actual gift? Draco, how is this not an actual gift?!” Harry exclaimed.

Draco blinked, then blushed a little. “It’s just an heirloom, noth—”

“Exactly! It’s an heirloom—something that’s supposed to stay in your family—and you’re giving it to _me._ ” 

Harry’s eyes were shining brilliant green, and Draco momentarily forgot to breathe.

“I mean, yeah,” he eventually managed, still captivated by green irises.

Harry kissed him and Draco’s mind went blank for a second, before a by now established reflex kicked in and he returned the kiss fervently. When they broke apart again they were both a little breathless.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Draco whispered.

Harry beamed at him and kissed him again. It took longer this time before their lips parted again, as both of them seemed to lose themselves in the sensations of wandering hands and dancing tongues. Harry’s hands came to rest on Draco’s hips, pulling him closer as his mouth left Draco’s, wandering down to his neck. A small gasp escaped Draco’s throat as he felt Harry’s teeth against his skin, biting down gently just below his ear. A wave of heat went through him, and before he knew it, he had pushed Harry onto his back, sliding on top of him.

They hadn’t gone any further than that first night, not really, and while Draco was more than happy with Harry’s hands frequently wandering under his shirt, he hadn’t tried touching Harry again for fear of a similar reaction as that time. Still, he couldn’t deny that he _wanted_ to. Wanted to feel Harry’s skin under his fingers. Wanted to truly let his hands wander, let them wander lower, to explore _that_ part of Harry’s body. He bit back a groan at the thought, trying to rein himself in.

Harry’s hands had found their way under his shirt—again—and the feeling of short nails digging into his skin sent shivers down his spine. Merlin, he could lose himself in this. His own hands began to wander, letting go of black hair and travelling downwards over Harry’s chest. Teeth nipped at his ear and he tried—and failed—to suppress a moan. He felt himself blush a little, but the faint feeling of embarrassment vanished immediately when Harry responded in kind.

Draco did lose himself a little then, his brain hazed over by the single-minded desire to be _closer_ and feel _more_ of Harry. Heat was pooling low in his abdomen and he felt his pants tighten. Somewhere in the back of his mind a whispering voice was warning him to slow down, to control himself lest he do something that’d ruin it all. He couldn’t focus enough to pay it any heed.

Suddenly, Harry wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him sideways, effectively causing him to almost fall off the couch as Harry rolled on top. It knocked the breath right out of Draco’s lungs. Before his mind could catch up to the switch, Harry’s mouth was on him again, as were his hands, sliding up Draco’s chest. He inhaled sharply as strong fingers glided over his ribs, leaving goosebumps in their trail. Instinctively, he reached out to pull Harry closer, his hands wrapping around Harry’s waist—and found bare skin.

Draco’s eyes flew open at the unexpected touch even as it sent a shiver through his body. The heat in his stomach flared. His hands were still moving of their own accord, still stuck on the task of pulling Harry towards him even though Draco’s mind was thoroughly distracted by the lack of fabric under his fingers as they slid further around Harry’s waist towards his back—and stilled suddenly. A tight knot of tension coiled rapidly inside Draco’s chest.

Harry had gone motionless just a second before Draco’s fingers had reached his back, before he’d felt—

Slowly exhaling, Harry pulled away just enough to catch Draco’s gaze, green eyes full of an emotion Draco couldn’t quite place. There was clear apprehension in his face, though, bordering on fear. Draco’s mind was scrambling to comprehend what it was—what would make Harry’s skin feel like _this_ —even as Harry slowly moved away, his expression morphing into one of defeat. 

Finally, Draco snapped out of his stupor, tightened his grip and did what he’d meant to do in the first place: pull Harry closer. Except instead of a frantic search for contact, the motion was now one of reassurance, because he couldn’t stand that look of sadness and resignation in Harry’s eyes. To his relief, Harry let him—burying his face in Draco’s neck as if trying to hide.

For a long moment, neither of them moved and Draco simply kept Harry pressed to his chest. His hands were still firmly on his back, still feeling the uneven bumps beneath his fingers. Then, Harry stirred, tentatively moving away again. Reluctantly, Draco loosened his grip, although he didn’t take his hands off Harry’s back. He moved with him instead, until they were both sitting upright on the couch, faces only inches apart with Draco’s arms still around him.

Harry gave him a heartbreakingly sad smile then and Draco’s insides twisted painfully, his chest constricting. Echoes of Harry’s story about his relatives reverberated through Draco’s mind, and suddenly it all clicked into place.

“Show me,” he whispered, finally moving his hands away to take hold of Harry’s face instead, peering intently into those unbelievably sad eyes. “Please.”

Harry’s face twisted in apprehension, but he nodded and moved away to take off his shirt. Giving Draco another pained look, Harry turned.

Theoretically, Draco had known what to expect, had felt it clearly beneath his fingers already, and even knew the story behind it. The sight of it still shocked him. Harry’s back was covered in scars; some looking old, pale and faded, others still faintly pink, raising from the surrounding skin. Either these had been absurdly deep, or they couldn’t be older than a year. Slowly, Draco lifted a shaky hand and ran his fingers down Harry’s spine, feeling every bump.

Hatred flared in his gut, fuelling white hot rage and the desire to _hurt_ the people responsible for this. Hurt them more, make them pay, make them wish they’d never been born.

Harry turned back around, eyes fixed on his knees and fingers twisted together in tight knots.

“I know it’s disgusting,” he mumbled quietly.

Draco gaped at him incredulously. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Harry winced at the harsh tone, ducking his head between his shoulders.

“I mean that I understand if—” He trailed off, struggling with himself. “—if you’d rather not touch me again,” he finally whispered. Draco’s heart broke clean in two.

_“Harry,”_ he breathed exasperatedly, tugging him back into a crushing embrace. “Why the fuck— Do you have any idea _how long_ I’ve wanted to be with you? Do you really think I would drop you just like that?”

“But I’m disgusting,” Harry murmured against his neck.

Anger flared in Draco’s gut again and he tightened his arms further.

“You are _not,_ don’t ever call yourself that again. The only ones that are disgusting are those fucking arseholes who did this to you,” he hissed. “If I ever, _ever_ get my hands on them they won’t see another day, I swear it.”

Slowly, Harry brought up his arms around Draco’s waist to return the embrace, and after a few more moments, Draco finally felt him relax the slightest bit. It was a start. He ran one hand up and down Harry’s back soothingly, the way he had done several times by now after Harry had woken thrashing and screaming from a nightmare. He could feel the scars beneath his palm. 

It took longer than usual but eventually it worked and tension began to seep out of Harry’s body as he melted into Draco’s arms. They stayed like that for several long minutes, Draco’s hand still rubbing soothing strokes onto Harry’s back. Eventually, Harry pulled back and Draco let him, both of them settling into the couch cushions. Draco took his hand, feeling a strong need to keep some sort of contact, while Harry stared absent-mindedly into the fireplace. 

“I’m guessing this is why you always kicked me out to change your clothes,” Draco said, trying to keep his voice somewhat light.

Harry gave him an apologetic look and nodded.

“Because you thought I’d leave as soon as I saw,” Draco went on.

“I was afraid,” Harry admitted softly after a short pause. “I was hoping you wouldn’t, and part of me believed you wouldn’t, but I was afraid. Vernon— He used to say that nobody would want me either way, not once they’d see what a freak I am—”

“You’re not a freak.”

“—and I believed him. Who would want someone broken? Obviously, visibly broken?”

Harry looked up at him then, blinking back tears. Draco put his free hand on Harry’s cheek and shook his head.

“You are not broken, and you are not a freak. He’s a filthy arsehole and a liar and he deserves to suffer for everything he did to you. No, I won’t go murder him,” Draco assured quickly when Harry opened his mouth to interrupt. “Even though I would bloody well like to, I won’t. Ultimately, I don’t care about what happens to him—if he suffers I’ll be glad, but that’s secondary. First and foremost, I care about you. I thought I understood everything of relevance about your childhood, but it seems I was very wrong. I’m sorry I didn’t realise sooner why you were so reluctant, I should’ve seen the connection, I—”

“Stop,” Harry cut him off. “Please don’t— There’s no way you could’ve figured it out. Draco, I’ve been hiding these for five years at Hogwarts, not even Ron knows about them and we share a dorm _and_ a locker room for Quidditch. It’s silly, really, because somewhere in my brain I _know_ that Vernon is wrong, I know that this has nothing to do with me as a person—I’ve learnt enough over the years to realise that—but hiding it is practically a reflex. I just _hate_ them and I’m ashamed of them and _I_ think they’re disgusting. Not _me_ , but the scars. The scars are fucking disgusting.” He shot Draco an apologetic look. “And I feel bad because you had to see that, but I know it was inevitable. Now that you know you can just…avoid them, I guess. I’m sorry.”

Draco shook his head again. “I won’t avoid anything. I don’t care whether you have those scars, Harry. No, wait, that’s not true, I do care—it makes me fucking angry that someone did this to you—but I don’t think they’re disgusting. It doesn’t upset me to see them, or feel them. The only thing that upsets me is that they upset you.” He quirked his lips up into a smirk. “Fortunately, I think there’s a solution for that.”

Harry blinked at him in confusion, frowning slightly. Draco’s smile widened.

“Sometimes you’re really dense, Potter,” he said with the slightest drawl. “You practically brought Sev back from death’s doorstep, read healing books all day, but the idea that there might be a way to remove these scars doesn’t cross your mind? I am practically certain there’s a spell or a salve for that—after all, those are ordinary scars, not curse scars. Have you ever heard of a non-magical wound that can’t be healed with magic?”

It was a delight to watch realisation bloom on Harry’s face, followed by a mix of relief and pure, unbridled joy. Draco couldn’t help himself; he closed the distance between them and kissed him again. He felt him smile against his lips, a real, bright, wide smile, and it made him giddy. 

Resting their foreheads together, they just held each other’s gaze for a moment, then Harry whispered, “What would I do without you?”

Draco’s heart did a little flip.

“Go to sleep at a reasonable time,” he quipped as he pulled back, pointing at the clock. It was already past one in the morning.

Harry laughed, and the sound finally unraveled the tight knot in Draco’s chest.

“I suppose you’re right, we got a little distracted,” Harry said, his tone half teasing, half bashful.

Draco rolled his eyes. “A little, yeah. Come on, Potter, if I’m supposed to face an army of Weasleys in twelve hours, I need all the sleep I can get.”

He got to his feet, pulling Harry off the couch with him. Suddenly, the fact that Harry was still shirtless came rushing back to him. They stood with barely an inch between them. He swallowed and forced himself to turn and make his way to the bathroom. If he allowed himself to be distracted again now, they’d never get to sleep, and he _actually_ wanted to be well-rested for the trouble that most likely lay ahead. Harry followed him—still shirtless—and they quickly brushed their teeth before changing into pyjamas, which had Draco silently mourn the view of Harry’s naked chest. Now that he had gotten a glimpse, he wished Harry would never put on a shirt again.

They climbed into bed and, after Harry extinguished the lamps, snuggled into each other, Harry using Draco as his pillow this time around. For a few breaths they lay silently and Draco relaxed into Harry’s warmth curled around him.

“So,” Harry spoke up, amused curiosity audible in his voice, “how long _did_ you want to be with me already?”

Draco groaned in embarrassment. “Of course you’d remember _that_ particular detail.”

“Naturally. So, how long?”

“Too long.”

“Come on, tell me!” Harry whined, but Draco shook his head.

“You’d laugh at me.”

“I would never!” Harry protested. “You know I would never laugh at you, I’m just curious. I always thought you hated me.”

“We talked about this; I don’t think I ever really hated you,” argued Draco.

“Well, you were very convincing,” Harry retorted. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s embarrassing!”

“I’ve found you attractive since third year,” Harry deadpanned, and Draco felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs.

“What?!” he spluttered. He could hardly believe his own ears.

“Mind you, you were a right git back then, but I always thought you were pretty hot,” said Harry, his tone utterly casual. 

Draco wasn’t sure how to handle any of this, didn’t know how to react. He was frozen in shocked silence, gaping motionless into the darkness. Harry lifted his head and put a hand on Draco’s cheek.

“You alright there?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Draco replied with a weak chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologised, though Draco could hear the grin in his voice.

“No, don’t be,” Draco said quickly. “I just— I didn’t expect that.” 

“You’re gorgeous, Draco, only a blind person wouldn’t find you attractive,” said Harry.

Draco laughed and shook his head. 

“It’s true!” Harry insisted. “You’ve always been gorgeous, but I sort of figured you only started to think of me like this since— well, since the charms came off.”

Draco let out a laugh and shook his head again. Then he took a steadying breath and said, “Harry, I’ve _always_ found you interesting. I already told you that I was jealous of your friends. I always wanted you in some way.”

“Wanting to have friends is not the same as fancying me.”

“I suppose not,” Draco conceded. “Then I guess also third year.”

“You fancied me since third year?”

Draco blushed furiously, glad that Harry couldn’t see his face in the dark. He nodded mutely.

“Like, _fancied_ me?”

Another nod.

Harry spluttered, “You’re telling me— We could have— Why didn’t you ever say anything?“ 

“Right, because that would’ve been such a realistic scenario,” Draco said with a dejected sigh. An uncomfortable weight settled in his stomach. “Don’t you remember what I told you? Even though I haven’t agreed with my father’s views in a long time, I still felt compelled to keep up appearances. You said it yourself: I was a right git to you. My father would’ve made me regret it otherwise.”

Harry’s tone was thoughtful when he replied, “If only I had known, I would’ve—”

“But you didn’t know, you couldn’t have known. And, somehow, despite not knowing, you freed me.” 

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry denied.

“Yes, you did. My father was arrested because of you, mother and I were able to get out of the Manor because of you,” Draco’s ranting was growing louder and louder. “Hell, I escaped being forced to take the Dark Mark because of you!”

Harry kissed him, pushing him back into the pillows. Liquid heat shot down Draco’s spine and his attention honed in on the taste of Harry’s lips and tongue. After a few seconds he forced himself to pull back, taking Harry’s face into his hands.

“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Harry.”

The next kiss Harry gave him was so gentle it made Draco’s chest ache.

“And you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” said Harry as he pulled away again. “Better late than never, I guess. Still, _third year_.”

Draco laughed, the heavy feeling in his stomach dissolving.

“Yeah, third year.”

Silence settled over them again. Draco felt Harry’s chest rise and fall against his side with every breath, the weight of Harry’s head comforting on his shoulder. Third year. They could’ve had this since third year. Draco pushed the thought away resolutely. The past was the past, there was nothing he could do about it. They’d found each other now. What had Harry said? _Better late than never._ Draco smiled to himself and tightened his arms around Harry. They had each other now. He was just drifting off to sleep when Harry spoke up into the darkness again.

“Draco?”

“Mmh?”

“Thank you. For the bracelet. You have no idea how much it means to me that you would give me such a thing. I truly love it.”

A wide smile spread on Draco’s face and his stomach fluttered pleasantly.

“You’re welcome, I wouldn’t want anyone else to have it.”

Harry was silent for a moment, then added just above a whisper, “And thank you for the other thing, too. For…understanding. For not caring.”

Draco pulled him tighter against his side.

“There was never any other option, love. I’ll find something to get rid of them, if you want me to.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed. “Yeah, I’d appreciate your help. We can look together.”

“Anything you want,” Draco replied softly.

He felt Harry smile against his shoulder.

“Good night.”

“Good night,” Draco whispered. 

And, for once, he fell asleep quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, *originally* this chapter was supposed to have a little mini-scene at midnight of Draco giving Harry his first present, some fluffy kisses and then the main part was supposed to be Draco facing an army of Weasleys + Hermione. Except that first mini-scene turned into a chapter-length scene with way more angst than intended. Whops.  
> And then the second part escalated on me too, ending up at least double as long as planned, sooooo I split them up into two chapters.
> 
> Fun fact: every time I write something like implying 1AM is late I have to laugh, because chances are I’m writing it at 5AM. What even is sleep? I wish I was half as functional as my characters.
> 
> Also, my apologies for being kinda behind on responding to comments, somehow my brain did not manage to fit that in with everything else in the two days since the last update. I still appreciate every comment so so much, they make me so happy. I'll do my best to catch up!
> 
> Thanks to [Vukovich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vukovich) for beta reading!
> 
> As always I hope you liked it and thanks for reading <3  
> \- Z.


	23. A Weasley Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s sixteenth birthday has Draco on edge because Grimmauld Place is about to be flooded with Weasleys.

Morning came far too soon, and Draco would’ve loved to tell everyone to bugger off and just keep Harry in bed with him all day. He was so _comfortable_ to cuddle, it bordered on witchcraft. One more unfairly perfect thing about him to add to Draco’s list—a list that was getting decidedly too long.

Harry shifted, extracting himself out of Draco’s arms, eliciting an offended grunt from him. He laughed softly, and Draco felt his lips brush briefly against his forehead.

“Mmh!” He reached out blindly, finding Harry’s arm and tugging him back.

“Draco, we gotta get up,” Harry chuckled, running a hand through Draco’s hair.

Reluctantly, Draco cracked open an eye, glancing up at Harry. His black hair was a mess, almost as bad as it used to be when he’d been under all those charms, and his eyes were still half-lidded. He was gorgeous. And apparently dead-set on getting out of bed. Rolling his eyes, Draco relented.

Barely ten minutes later, they walked into the dining room for breakfast, where Draco’s mother immediately pulled Harry into a hug to wish him a happy birthday. They settled down at the table and before long, Remus and Severus entered, also extending birthday wishes as they took their seats. 

“Do you want your present now or later?” Remus asked cheerfully.

But before he could even open his mouth, Draco’s mother cut in, “Oh no, absolutely not. We have _guests_ coming for a birthday celebration, it would be impolite to unpack half the presents before everyone is here. I had the house-elves prepare the drawing room already. Give your gift to me and I shall put it with the rest.”

Draco smothered a laugh. He knew it’d been a good idea to give Harry his first present in the privacy of their room—well, Harry’s room, although Draco barely ever went back to his own at this point and practically all his clothes had found a place in Harry’s closet—simply because he knew how adamant his mother could be about proper manners. He watched amusedly as Severus began an argument against her insistence to have Harry unpack all his gifts with everyone present, and was promptly shut down before he could even finish his sentence. At least Severus knew better than trying to push her and relented with a resigned sigh.

“When will they arrive?” he asked, turning to Harry.

“Hermione said they’d be coming a little after lunch, so I’m guessing around two o’clock?” Harry replied with the tiniest smile.

Severus gave a curt nod, then stood. “I have an errand to run, but I will make sure to be back before then.”

After he was gone, Draco turned to Harry. “What do you want to do until this place gets flooded by red-heads? It’s your birthday, we should do something fun.”

Harry shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it to be honest, I figured I’d do the same as always: Read a little, maybe some practice. Why, did you have something else in mind?”

“Actually,” Remus chimed in, “I had an idea. If I recall correctly, both of you play Quidditch. I thought you might want to go flying?”

Harry’s face lit up. “Flying? Fuck yeah I want to go flying!”

“Language!” Draco’s mother chided and Harry gave her a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, Narcissa, I’m just excited. But how can we go flying? It’s not like there’s enough space in the backyard, otherwise I’d have spent much more time outside.”

Remus smiled and said mischievously, “Leave that to me, cub. Would you like to join, Draco?”

“What a question,” Draco drawled, rolling his eyes. As if he’d ever say no to flying.

Within barely fifteen minutes, they had changed into their flying gear and were ready to go. Remus apparated them to a forest that looked suspiciously similar to the one where the World Cup had been two years prior. Indeed, he confirmed Draco’s thoughts just a moment later, explaining that the Muggle-repelling magic still lingered, which made it easy to double up on the charms and thus make it near-impossible for them to be detected. He even produced a practice-Snitch and a rather battered looking Quaffle and transfigured three large tree branches into makeshift goal-hoops before settling down on a conjured chair with a book as Draco and Harry took to the air. 

For the next few hours, Draco was able to forget his lingering anxiety. After warming up with some lazy passes of the Quaffle—Harry turned out to be surprisingly competent with it—and a few practice shots at the goal-hoops, they switched to playing one-on-one seeker games, neither going easy on the other. Just because they were dating didn’t mean that they weren’t rivals anymore when it came to Quidditch—not even on Harry’s birthday. Draco held his own well enough, but when Remus called for them to come down Harry had a slight majority of victories.

Back at Grimmauld Place Draco claimed the bathroom first, quickly showering and fixing his hair, before letting Harry have his turn as he went to pick an outfit. In no time, he was dressed and ready, lounging in an armchair and waiting for Harry. When he finally emerged, Draco’s breath caught. He was wearing a dark green silk shirt and black trousers, both tailored to perfection, the deep yet vibrant colour a flawless match to his eyes and contrasting beautifully with his skin. It _really_ wasn’t fair how good he looked, but Draco felt a glimmer of pride at his hand in choosing such an excellent wardrobe for Harry.

Unfortunately, Draco’s good mood began to falter during lunch when his apprehension of the impending confrontation with Harry’s friends returned in full force. As optimistic as he was trying to be about it, there was very little chance of this afternoon going over without at least one mishap, and Draco could only hope that it wouldn’t be his fault.

He had a plan at least. They had agreed that it would probably be better for the Weasleys to just _see_ that they were together, rather than announcing it at the same time as telling them about Severus. That gave Draco a little time, and he planned to make use of it by resolving as many issues between himself and Harry’s surrogate family as possible, before they realised that he was dating the Chosen One. He’d apologise to Granger first, mostly because she was the one who deserved it the most, but also because he had been on the receiving end of her anger before and was not keen on repeating the experience. Afterwards, he’d have to jump over his shadow and approach the Weasel. _Ron_ , he corrected himself. With eight Weasleys in the house, he’d have no choice but to resort to first names.

“Stop worrying,” Harry murmured, giving him a soft nudge.

“Who says I’m worrying?” he quipped back, straightening his posture.

Harry laughed. “I know you, Draco, and that was your worrying face. It’s going to be fine, you’ll see. They just have to see who you really are and they’ll like you in a heartbeat.”

Draco scoffed. Who he really was, right. He wasn’t even entirely sure who he really was, let alone confident enough in it to show it to everyone just like that. Sure, he could drop his defences around Harry, but that didn’t mean that he could around other people. Besides, what if the way he was around Harry _wasn’t_ actually who he really was? What if that was just Harry’s influence and he’d revert into the cold Malfoy heir his father had crafted as soon as he was on his own again? He didn’t _want_ to be like his father, not anymore, but sixteen years of influence were hard to shake.

But Draco said none of that, keeping his eyes glued to his plate instead. Harry sighed and squeezed his arm.

“It will be fine,” he said again, but didn’t continue to prod Draco further.

After lunch, they settled in the drawing room, where two formerly separated seating areas had been rearranged to form a single larger one. A pile of wrapped presents lay waiting on a table by the grand piano. Draco was once more impressed with how spacious Grimmauld Place was, belying its outside appearance. Perhaps there were extension charms on the rooms, the house was a Black residence after all.

The doorbell rang, destroying Draco’s bubble of self-distraction, and he felt a surge of panic going through him. One look at Severus, who had returned halfway through lunch with a satisfied smile on his face, confirmed that he wasn’t the only one dreading what was about to come. Harry jumped up and hurried downstairs with Remus following close behind, leaving the large double doors wide open. They had agreed that it would be best if Draco, his mother and Severus waited here.

Muffled voices floated from the hallway, and Draco thought he caught one or two enthusiastic “happy birthday” exclamations. His insides felt like ice. Despite Harry’s reassurances, the fear that Harry might turn away from Draco if his friends pressured him flared bright and fresh in his gut.

Steps were coming closer, up the stairs. Draco’s heart sped up and he clenched his hands into fists.

Remus entered, smiling encouragingly, although it was more directed at Severus than Draco.

More steps, voices becoming clearer.

“—explain everything. Just don’t freak out, alright?” Harry’s voice.

“Oh come on, Harry,” the Weasel said, “how bad can it be? It’s not like—”

They rounded the corner and Weasley broke off, eyes widening comically as he took in the sight before him. Draco’s mother, poised as ever, her pale blue dress and light hair contrasting with the dark sofa and making her shine like a beacon. Next to her Draco who stood out just as much, even though his outfit was much darker—he may or may not have picked it deliberately to blend into the room somewhat. On the couch diagonally across the long oval coffee table, Severus sat next to Remus, wearing his usual black robes and keeping his face completely neutral. Draco knew his own face was similarly blank, his pure-blood mask firmly in place.

Harry walked into the room, leaving a frozen Weasley and Granger behind at the door, and turned to face them. Even only seeing half of his face, Draco could tell that he was nervous. More steps and chattering echoed through the hallway, but as Weasley after Weasley reached the door, all the talking died down, until there was total silence as ten pairs of eyes stared disbelievingly into the drawing room. Ten? With mild surprise, Draco belatedly registered that a familiar head of silver hair was among the sea of red. Fleur Delacour. What the hell was Fleur Delacour doing here?

“What the _fuck_ , Harry?” Weasley found his voice again, and before Harry could answer, he’d also found his wand, pointing it straight at Draco.

Draco couldn’t even flinch before Harry already hissed, “Protego!” erecting a shield between the two groups and two spells ricocheted off it straight into the walls. The twins and Weaslette had their wands out as well now, though only the Weaslette had actually raised hers, aiming at Draco and his mother. 

“Ron!” Granger shrieked, but her own hand was twitching towards her wand, too.

“Do you have him under an Imperius? What did you do to him?” Weasley barked at Draco, and Draco tensed, shrinking back a little.

Draco’s mother put a hand on his knee, her posture still exuding perfect calmness and poise. He forced himself to straighten, emulating his mother’s air of serenity, as he had done so many times at countless social events his father had hosted at the Manor. If nothing else, he had perfect manners, perfect self-control. He resisted the urge to draw his own wand. Harry wouldn’t let them attack him. He wouldn’t. Draco was so tense he could almost feel his muscles vibrate, his heart pounding in his throat.

“They didn’t do anything to me, and you should know that I can throw off an Imperius. If you would just let me explain—”

“Harry, dear, how can you be sure that they did not manipulate you in some other way?” said Mrs Weasley, who Draco discovered with shock also had her wand out and aimed at him.

Before Harry could answer, Weasley went on yelling, “Of course they did something to you! Harry, that’s _Malfoy_ sitting on that couch there. _Malfoy!_ ”

“I am well aware who is sitting there, thank you,” Harry retorted dryly. “Would you kindly _listen_ to me before throwing hexes?”

The twins shared a glance, then shrugged and stowed away their wands. Their expressions had morphed from shock to intrigued curiosity. Weaslette and Mrs Weasley followed suit a few tense seconds later, though Mrs Weasley looked awfully unhappy as she did so. Weasley, however, kept his wand trained on Draco.

“Put your wand away, Ron, please. I know this is a lot to take in, but let me explain. Just— Sit down and hear me out, alright?”

For a long, tense moment there was silence. Then one of the twins—Draco could never tell them apart—chimed up way too cheerfully for the given circumstances, “You should have told us there’d be a show, Harry, we’d have brought popcorn!” 

Harry laughed and some of the tension in the room abated. The twins promptly marched into the room—forcing Harry to quickly lift his shield charm while he was walking over to stand next to where Draco sat—followed by a much more cautious looking Weaslette, and took the three-seat couch to Draco’s right. Fleur Delacour seemed mildly confused, but entered without hesitation when one of the two Weasley brothers Draco didn’t know moved to join his siblings, her arm firmly linked with his as they settled next to Remus. So that’s how she’d ended up here, she was dating one of the older ones. 

“That’s Bill,” Harry whispered to Draco, indicating Fleur’s partner. “And that’s Charlie.” 

The other unknown brother—Charlie, apparently—sauntered to the armchair next to where the Weaslette sat, followed by Mr and Mrs Weasley who sat down on the small two-seater on the lower end of the coffee table, directly opposite Draco’s seat. Granger had apparently gotten over her initial shock and stepped into the room, but paused when the Weasel didn’t follow.

“Come on, Ron,” she murmured, giving him a stern look. 

It worked. After they’d settled on the two armchairs between Mrs Weasley and Fleur Delacour, Harry finally sat down too. It was an odd sight. Draco’s mother to his right, separated only by an empty armchair from the twins and the Weaslette, Harry to his left, with Severus right in the first seat of the next couch. Both combinations seemed so unlikely it was slightly jarring, and yet here they were. An army of Weasleys, Granger and, utterly random, Fleur Delacour, all staring expectantly at Harry. Every fibre in Draco’s body was on high alert.

“Right,” Harry said. “I suppose I should explain a couple of things.”

“Damn right you should,” the Weasel grumbled, his eyes flickering to Draco and his mother.

Harry gave a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’ve already mentioned in my letter that I have something to tell you all, but I’m honestly not entirely sure where to start,” he admitted.

Tea appeared on the coffee table between them, serving itself. House-elf magic.

“How about you start with why _Malfoy_ is sitting here as if that was the most normal thing in the world?” the Weasel demanded. “They’re a family of Death Eaters, everyone knows that, hell, we were almost killed by Malfoy’s father just a month ago!”

Harry’s eyes hardened, and suddenly he looked much older.

“Lucius Malfoy’s actions have nothing to do with Draco and Narcissa and neither of them is a Death Eater. Voldemort—” Everyone, including Draco, flinched at the name. “—had plans to force Draco to take the Mark, so they fled their home. Dumbledore has promised them protection.”

It was a very abridged version of events, but it got the point across well enough. The reactions Draco observed ranged from disbelief or pity to openly impressed.

“You’re telling me that Dumbledore sent Malfoy to live _here_ because he’s claiming to be against You-Know-Who? He could be lying, for Merlin’s sake! What if he’s just here to get to you, so he can deliver you to his master?” The Weasel’s face was turning redder with every word.

“He’s not lying. Narcissa and Draco have been living here for over a month.” 

“And you’re certain that they’re not manipulating you?” asked Mrs Weasley, her tone so full of worry Draco wondered whether she was exaggerating on purpose. “Remus, what do you have to say about this? Surely you don’t think it safe to allow supporters of You-Know-Who to—”

“Why don’t you let Harry speak?” Remus interrupted her. She bristled, face turning red, but didn’t argue back.

“They are not manipulating me, I am sure,” said Harry, looking over at Draco. “I trust them.”

A warm feeling spread through Draco’s chest, easing some of his tension. It wasn’t that he didn’t already know that Harry trusted him, he simply liked hearing it out loud. In front of everyone.

“But,” Harry continued, before the Weasel could counter, “that’s not the thing that I meant to tell you. I’m assuming you two have already told everyone that James Potter isn’t my father, otherwise they’d have asked me why I look so different all of a sudden.”

Granger and the Weasel had the decency to look ashamed.

“Well, we’ve figured out who my real father is.” Harry paused, and he suddenly looked nervous, eyes darting over to Severus.

“Who is it, Harry?” Mrs Weasley prodded gently, although there was some apprehension in her eyes, as if she wasn’t sure whether she really wanted to know.

“That’d be me,” Severus answered in Harry’s stead, his voice silky and dark.

All of them—actually _all_ of them, every single one—gasped. Draco had to suppress the urge to laugh and quickly picked up his cup of tea to hide his smile. Sure, he’d been surprised by it, too, but this was like watching a drama on a stage. Gryffindors and their blatant displays of emotions. Now that everyone’s attention was away from Draco he felt decidedly lighter. Severus, however, looked more uncomfortable than ever—at least to Draco, who knew him well enough to be able to tell. For everyone else he hid it well behind a mask of arrogance.

“It can’t be,” Mrs Weasley said, an expression of pure shock on her face.

“Yes, that seems to be the general response to it but I assure you it is true,” Severus replied smoothly. “It came as a surprise to both of us.”

Harry snorted and nodded in agreement.

“But— but how?”

“Lily Evans and I were involved during our time at Hogwarts. Right before her wedding, she visited me to say goodbye.”

“And you’re seriously trying to tell us that she— that you—” Mrs Weasley gestured between Severus and Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “We confirmed it. Severus is my father, it’s even in my Gringotts records. “

That effectively rendered the entire Weasley clan speechless, so Harry went on to fill the silence, “My Gringotts records also showed that James named me his heir, so he must have known about it. And Sirius obviously named me his heir, too, so I kinda have two titles now.”

“Are you saying you are Lord Black _and_ Lord Potter now?” the long-haired Weasley sitting next to Fleur—Bill, Draco remembered—chimed in.

Harry nodded sheepishly. Bill let out a whistle, looking amazed.

“Anyway, this obviously has to stay secret,” Harry went on, “because we can’t risk Voldemort learning the truth while Severus is still acting as a spy. So, I need all of you to swear to me that you won’t tell a soul.”

It occurred to Draco then that they probably should’ve ensured their silence before telling them, but his flicker of concern turned out to be unfounded, as they all agreed immediately. They followed Bill’s example and, swearing on their magic, they each assured their silence—it wasn’t as strongly binding as an Unbreakable Vow, but it would certainly stop any accidental slip-ups. Harry gave a satisfied nod.

Before the room could fall back into uncomfortable silence, Draco’s mother spoke up.

“Well, now that that’s done, would anyone care for some birthday cake?”

Harry blinked, obviously surprised. “We have cake?”

She laughed. “Of course, it’s your birthday! Pipsy!”

The house-elf appeared with a soft pop, and the message was clear: Moving on, no more questions for now. 

It took barely more than a heartbeat before the twins enthusiastically proclaimed their desire for cake, and the atmosphere in the room shifted immediately. Draco decided that the twins were his favourite Weasleys—he could overlook that they’d drawn their wands earlier, the reaction wasn’t completely unwarranted after all—when they lamented loudly that they had all but forgotten to give Harry his present, reminding everyone that this was supposed to be a celebration. If they all actually cared about Harry, that should hopefully keep them in check for the rest of the day. In a flurry of movement, countless gifts were pulled out of bags and pockets and passed towards Harry—who promptly handed them all to Draco’s mother and she swiftly added them to the pile in the back of the room. 

The cake was delicious. Nevertheless, Draco felt his tension rise again as silence settled over the room once more. How would they ever get over this incredibly awkward stage of having absolutely nothing to say to each other? What did Weasleys usually talk about anyway?

It was Harry who saved them all, living up to his heroic reputation, by casually asking the twins how their business was going, which had Fred—at least Draco thought that was Fred—immediately launching into a detailed account of everything they’d been experimenting with. Draco had to admit that it sounded rather impressive, despite some of their products being decidedly absurd. Apparently they had even acquired a shop space at Diagon Alley and were preparing to open their doors within the week. To his relief, he noticed that other conversations had started up as well, with Bill talking to Remus and Severus—Draco thought he heard something about tricky curses—and Charlie seemingly interrogating the Weaslette about something that had her cheeks flaming and throwing nervous glances at her father, who was quite obviously listening in. Fleur had roped Mrs Weasley into a discussion about a cake, and Draco quickly realised that they were debating a wedding—seemingly Fleur’s own. To a Weasley. Draco shuddered at the thought. Oh well, whatever made her happy.

Granger and the Weasel had their heads stuck together as they talked in hushed voices, occasionally glancing over at Harry with obvious concern. Gryffindors, absolutely no subtlety.

“—you’d probably like those too, Malfoy.”

Draco’s attention snapped back to Fred, except Fred was busy chewing on a bite of cake and it had been George who’d said Draco’s name.

“Pardon?”

“Portable glamour charms, we’ve been developing a range of accessoires that carry charms to disguise the wearer’s appearance. Could come in handy to avoid You-Know-Who’s dogs, don’t you think? Of course, they’re also brilliant for pranks,” George said with a mischievous smile.

Draco laughed. Yes, definitely his favourite Weasleys. 

“That sounds intriguing indeed, how far along are you with the design?” he asked, turning slightly towards the twins as he joined the conversation. As George began to explain all their testing, Draco could finally relax a little. Maybe Harry was right and the twins would really just trust Harry’s judgement and play along, now that they’d gotten over their initial shock of seeing him here. They didn’t even seem to hold a grudge against him for getting them banned from Quidditch the previous year. As their exchange went on, Draco even found that they weren’t just polite, they were…nice to him. Perhaps not all the Weasleys would hate the idea of him dating Harry. 

For a while, these individual conversations continued. At some point, Fleur left her seat next to Bill and shooed Mr Weasley out of his, as the discussion about the wedding cake got more heated. To Draco’s surprise, Mr Weasley did not take Fleur’s vacated spot, but instead walked right up to the empty armchair next to Draco’s mother’s seat and struck up a quiet conversation with her. Across the room, Mrs Weasley lifted an eyebrow at her husband, but otherwise nobody reacted. Draco tried to pick up enough of his mother’s conversation to understand what they were talking about, but it proved an impossible endeavour while simultaneously keeping up with the twins. He was so preoccupied, he barely registered Granger calling Harry’s name before Harry was already getting up, brushing Draco’s shoulder for the briefest moment as he went to take Fleur’s empty seat.

It was considerably harder now to listen to what the twins were telling him, his eyes continuously flitting back to Harry, who had an intense-looking discussion with the other two parts of the Golden Trio. Blowing out a breath, Draco forced his focus back to product testing at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Thankfully, his mother and Mr Weasley had joined Draco’s conversation with the twins as well, so Draco’s increased distractibility had gone unnoticed. At least he hoped so.

Not long after Harry had relocated to talk to Granger and the Weasel, people started to move all over the place all of a sudden. First, Charlie decided to sit next to Draco to join Bill’s discussion with Remus and Severus, followed by a visibly exasperated Ginny getting roped into the wedding-cake debate and taking Charlie’s seat. Draco’s mother summoned the house-elves then, telling them to serve a variety of finger-foods Draco knew from countless social functions he’d attended over the years. The snacks were laid out on the same table where the rest of the cake still sat, and within barely a minute, three Weasleys were out of their seats to fill a small plate for themselves. Draco was tempted to follow, if only because one of the three was Bill, meaning that the seat next to Harry was currently free. If he was fast enough—

Harry looked up at him and smiled, causing Draco’s heart to stutter pathetically. Gods, he was so done for, how had this happened? His breath caught slightly when Harry signaled him to come over to him, but he complied immediately. Fortunately, the twins had turned most of their attention to his mother by now anyway. The thought was grating on Draco’s mind a little—his mother, talking to Fred and George Weasley about products for their joke shop.

Granger was eyeing him suspiciously as he sat down next to Harry, while the Weasel was outright scowling. Draco ignored it.

“Missed me, Potter?” he drawled, giving Harry his signature arched eyebrow.

“Terribly,” Harry quipped back, but Draco could tell that it wasn’t purely sarcastic. “Weren’t you reading a book about advanced transfiguration last week?”

“So you _do_ have a brain to remember things with, that’s good to know. What’s it to you what I’ve been reading?”

“Hermione wanted to know—”

“I was just curious,” Granger interrupted, blushing slightly. 

Draco suppressed a smirk. If academic interest was the key to Granger’s approval, he could work with that. He just needed to get her into a private enough conversation to apologise eventually. As if he’d read his mind, Harry announced that he’d go and get some food, pulling the Weasel along with him and leaving Draco behind alone with Granger. As casually as possible, Draco shifted closer to her, taking Harry’s seat at the edge of the couch. If Granger suspected anything about his intentions she didn’t show it as they began a polite discussion about various books on transfiguration, arithmancy and charms that went beyond N.E.W.T. level. 

Draco had long since accepted that Granger was a brilliant witch, and now that his jealousy was no longer clouding his judgement, he found that he quite enjoyed talking to her, to someone like-minded when it came to academics. Not that Harry wasn’t interested in academics—he certainly was these days—but his way of doing things was…different. Granger, however, had exactly the same approach to magic as Draco, and so they quickly got carried away, discussing various arithmantic theories they hadn’t even covered in class yet.

After a while, Draco realised that Harry and the Weasel hadn’t returned to their seats. A quick look around found them in two armchairs on the other side of the room, caught up in deep conversation. Nevertheless, as if he’d felt Draco’s gaze, Harry suddenly looked up and their eyes locked. A smile tugged on Draco’s lips before he could control his features, but he found that he didn’t mind very much when Harry gave him a broad grin in return. With some effort Draco forced himself to turn back to Granger, only to find her studying him calculatingly.

“You’re different,” she said finally, leaning back in her armchair.

Draco’s insides coiled with both dread and anticipation. _Here we go._

“I suppose finally escaping my father’s influence had an impact,” he replied evenly. “His expectations have dictated most of my life up until now, I never had a chance to actually be myself before.” Whatever being himself entailed, she didn’t have to know that he was still struggling with that. 

She was still watching him, lips slightly pursed and brows furrowed, so he went on, “That being said, I would like to take this opportunity to apologise to you. I’ve said some pretty awful things to you over the years and I’m sorry. It was what I thought would gain my father’s approval, which is of course not an excuse—it didn’t work anyway. I hope you accept my apology and can maybe even forgive me one day, though I would understand if that is too much to ask. Regardless, I wanted you to know that I do not subscribe to my father’s ideologies of blood-supremacy, and I wish I could take back the things I said and did to you. I am truly sorry.”

His heart was racing, belying the neutral tone of his words, as he waited for her reaction. The seconds seemed to stretch forever. Finally, a small smile appeared on her lips and she nodded.

“I accept your apology, thank you,” she replied. “We’ll see about forgiving you after you’ve kept this behaviour up for a bit.”

Draco laughed as relief spread through him. “That’s fair, Granger.”

“Call me Hermione.”

“Of course, if you’ll call me Draco.”

Her smile widened. Just as she opened her mouth to respond again, Harry appeared seemingly out of nowhere and flopped down on the couch next to Draco, holding a plate with snacks under his nose.

“Took more than you can handle, Potter?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No, you git, I thought I’d bring you something. That’s what nice people do for each other.”

“My hero,” Draco drawled, but he took the plate and popped a piece of cheese into his mouth.

“You’re insufferable,” Harry said, rolling his eyes again.

“And yet you keep coming back to suffer me,” Draco replied, smirking slyly. 

A glance to the side confirmed that Gr— Hermione had turned her attention to Weasley who was leading her away quickly, and Remus was still caught up in his conversation with Severus and Charlie. For all intents and purposes, he and Harry were as alone as possible.

“What did you talk about with Weasley? It looked intense,” he said, keeping his voice low enough that only Harry would hear him.

“He shared his ‘concerns’ with me,” Harry replied, not meeting Draco’s eyes.

“Concerns about me,” Draco guessed. Harry nodded. “Well, it was to be expected that at least one of them would balk. Although Hermione accepted my apology, so that’s a start.”

Harry beamed at him.

“Ron’s point was silly though, really. He said that I look nothing like myself anymore—no shit, Sherlock. He insisted that it wasn’t the face, but the clothes, that you’re trying to influence me and turn me into something I’m not. I thought it was kinda funny because half the family actually complimented me on my outfit when they arrived, so you can’t be all that bad of an influence.”

“I gladly take credit for getting you into those clothes,” he agreed.

Harry smirked and moved closer to Draco until he was barely an inch from his ear, whispering, “I wouldn’t complain if you got me _out_ of them either.”

Draco nearly choked. He felt heat rise into his cheeks as Harry laughed softly, moving away a little but still staying much closer than he’d been before. Across the coffee table, one of the twins raised his eyebrows at them, then elbowed his brother and pointed. A second pair of eyebrows shot up, and Draco’s face heated up further. There was no way the twins wouldn’t figure them out in _seconds_ if Harry kept flustering him like this. Sure, they were sort of counting on that, but now that it was actually happening Draco was suddenly anxious all over again.

He was saved by his mother announcing that it was time for Harry to unpack his presents. That got everyone’s attention, and anyone standing or sitting in another part of the room joined the main seating area again. Almost nobody still sat in their original seat, in fact, only Severus, Remus and the twins had not moved at all. It reinforced the feeling of a much more relaxed atmosphere than before.

Harry unpacked package after package, revealing several books, a knitted jumper with a big H on it, a variety of products from the twins’ shop, and new Quidditch gloves. A book on defence magic, along with a shrinkable practice dummy that could be set up in the garden, turned out to be from Remus, which meant they were through the Weasley-part of the gift pile. The numerous packages from Draco’s mother were next, and Draco was as curious as Harry as the latter tore into the paper to reveal…more clothing?

At a questioning glance from Harry, Draco’s mother smiled and explained, “I might have overheard you saying that you wanted some Muggle clothing as well, since it was—how did you put it?—a different level of comfortable. I do hope I’ve made the right assumptions regarding your taste, I based it on your preferences in wizarding attire.”

Harry gaped at her for a moment, then practically leapt out of his seat and hugged her tightly.

“Thank you so much,” he whispered before letting her go again.

“Of course, my darling,” she replied with a broad smile, gently patting his shoulder.

It took several minutes to unpack all the packages filled with Muggle clothing, and Draco had to admit that some of it looked like even he could consider wearing it. In the corner of his eye, he saw Weasley staring at his mother incredulously. _That much about us influencing him to wear specific clothes,_ Draco thought smugly. 

When Draco saw his own gift floating over to them, he tensed slightly. Harry must’ve noticed, because he shot him a quick smile before starting to remove the wrapping. He had debated the gift for quite a while, even after he’d already settled on giving Harry the bracelet. The choice had been between Quidditch, healing and defence, and Draco had laboured over the decision for days. In the end, he’d picked healing, because it was the thing least likely to be covered by other people’s gifts, but he’d refused to settle for something as simple as a book—partially at least.

Harry pushed the wrappings aside, revealing a smooth leather cover and a small wooden box. Eyes shining, he flipped open the box and promptly furrowed his brows in confusion. Draco chuckled.

“It’s a sampling syringe,” he explained and Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Here, let me—”

Draco took the syringe and put it back into the box, before pulling the leather bound journal from Harry’s lap.

“It’s a medical journal that’s coupled with the syringe. If you draw blood with it and activate the diagnosis charm—there are instructions inside the cover—the journal will automatically give you a full diagnostic report of the person you took the blood from. The standard charm checks for regular health parameters, as well as acute ailments and curses. There are some other spells mentioned that can reveal medical history or residual magic, but you’ll have to figure that out yourself, you’re the healer, not me.” He smiled at Harry’s stunned expression. “I know you’re perfectly capable of a diagnostic charm by now, but it’s supposed to save some energy and it’s convenient to have everything recorded immediately, that way if you need it again—”

He was cut off by Harry’s hand wrapping around the back of his neck, pulling him forward, and soft lips crashing into his. Forgetting the thirteen pairs of eyes watching them, Draco responded automatically and returned the kiss, one hand sliding up to cup Harry’s face. It was over after barely a moment and Harry pulled back, green eyes shining brightly as he gave Draco a blinding smile.

“It’s amazing, Draco, thank you,” he said softly, his voice a bit breathy.

Draco gave a small chuckle. “You’re welcome,” he replied, and Harry pressed another soft kiss to his lips. For a moment they just looked at each other and Draco was already losing himself again in those green eyes, when an incredulous cry ripped through the air, making them jump apart.

_“What?!”_

Oh, right, Weasley. All the Weasleys. And Granger. Dread came crashing back into Draco like a freight train. He hadn’t had a chance to apologise to Weasley yet, and the red-head did _not_ look amused. Well, shit.

Harry, thank Merlin for stubborn Gryffindor bravery, managed to conjure an expression of mild confusion onto his face and innocently asked, “What?”

Weasley was not impressed. “What do you mean ‘what’?! What the fuck, Harry, why are you snogging _Malfoy?”_

“Technically, we were not snogging,” Harry replied with a small smirk. “That would involve tongue.”

Draco almost burst out laughing, only barely managing to hold back. The twins, however, had no such inhibitions and roared with laughter, which in turn destroyed Draco’s self-control within seconds and he dissolved in giggles. While he was gasping for breath, he registered that almost everyone was laughing now, even Granger couldn’t suppress a small chuckle, although she did not look entirely pleased. The most prominent exception was Weasley, who looked extremely put out, his face red with anger.

Harry grinned and put his arm around Draco’s shoulders, pulling him into his side. Butterflies filled Draco’s stomach again as he leaned against Harry, placing his hand on Harry’s thigh. Casual. Because this was just how things were and they had nothing to hide.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Weasley said incredulously. “Tell me this is a joke.”

“If this is a joke, we yield our entire shop to you,” Fred chimed in, wiping tears from his eyes.

Harry laughed and shook his head. “Not a joke I’m afraid, we’ve been dating for a while.”

_“A while?_ What is a while?”

“Erm, a couple weeks, give or take?”

Weasley just stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. Then his eyes fell on Draco and darkened. He opened his mouth angrily, but Harry cut in before he could say a single word.

“No, he hasn’t hexed me or given me love potion, I’m not under any spell or compulsion, so don’t even start that.”

Harry’s eyes were hard now, his expression serious. For a few tense seconds, he and Weasley stared each other down. Draco half expected to see wands drawn and hexes fly again. Then Weasley relented, averted his eyes, shrugged, and mumbled, “Alright then, I’ll drop it because it’s your birthday—but we’re not done! You owe me a real good explanation for all this.”

Harry beamed and pulled Draco closer.

“You know, Harry, I think from now on we’ll just _always_ carry popcorn around with us when we’re around you. You really should’ve given us a heads-up,” George said, grinning from ear to ear.

“If I ever have bombshells to drop again, I’ll warn you,” Harry promised.

The twins cheered at that, and another round of laughter went around the table. Draco relaxed into Harry’s embrace as he watched his mother laugh with Fleur Delacour and Charlie Weasley. Perhaps he didn’t need to worry about Weasleys after all. And what a glorious feeling that was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the second part of that way-too-long chapter that I split in two — which is why we’re still with Draco’s POV.  
> I gotta write more Weasley-twins content, I remembered how much I love them during this chapter.  
> AREN’T THEY ALL JUST PRECIOUS? LIKE, ALL OF THEM? (Maybe except Ron at this point, but he’ll grow up soon enough, this isn’t a Ron bashing fic.)
> 
> On another note: I am officially done with NaNo! 50K words in a month, phew. Unfortunately for you that means my updates will slow down a bit again, since I'm not writing _that_ much anymore on a daily basis. But don't worry, they'll keep coming, just a little slower. I also have exams in 3 weeks and have to catch up on uni-stuff. Like, desperately.
> 
> Thanks to [PotionDaddy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionDaddy) for both beta reading and drawing up the original seating order of everyone!
> 
> Original seating order:  
> 
> 
> As always I hope you enjoyed it and thank you for reading <3  
> —Z.


	24. The Prism Viper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus gives Harry his birthday gift and overhears a conversation he shouldn't have.

Severus watched Harry unwrap his presents with increasing nervousness. Books, clothes, fireworks—all perfectly regular gifts. The longer he watched, the more he began to regret his rather extravagant choice of gift. He’d wanted something special, something useful and unique. And he’d found it, there was no denying that his gift met those two conditions, but he doubted his choice all the same. Even Draco’s gift, although definitely also useful and unique, was much less _extra_ than his.

A mild smile played on his lips as the boys revealed their relationship. About time. Still, his thoughts were hooked on the gift he was about to give to Harry. To his son.

Narcissa turned towards the table where the pile of wrapped packages had been replaced by the assortment of things Harry had received, now unpacked. She frowned and glanced at Severus. With a sigh, he stood up.

“My gift for you is still upstairs because I intended to give it to you later,” he said, “but since Narcissa insists, I shall go fetch it.”

Harry nodded, his expression still full of joy after his relationship with Draco appeared to have been accepted—or at least not too openly disapproved of—by most of the Weasleys. Severus left quickly and went upstairs into his lab, where he’d hidden the basket that he had picked up earlier in the day. He tried to calm his nerves. If Harry hated it, he’d simply get him something else, he only wished that he didn’t have to do this in front of quite so many people.

Resolutely, he picked up the basket and went back downstairs. Amicable chatter floated from the room, and Severus had to admit that he was impressed by how well this entire thing was going. He’d expected much worse. Still, his apprehension had not completely vanished yet. He could tell that most of the Weasleys’ reactions had been stunted by the fact that it was Harry’s birthday, and it was only a matter of time until they would voice what they really thought of him. Molly Weasley had certainly been giving him a lot of rather pointed glares. At least the two oldest sons seemed to be comparably tolerant. Taking a deep breath, he rounded the corner and stepped back into the drawing room.

The voices died down immediately. Keeping his face as neutral as possible, Severus quickly placed the basket on the coffee table in front of Harry, who eyed it curiously. When he shot a questioning glance at him, Severus gestured for him to open it as he sat back down next to Remus. He held his breath as Harry reached out and flipped the basket open. Harry’s eyes widened and Draco sucked in a sharp breath.

“What is it?” one of the twins asked eagerly.

Harry didn’t answer and continued to stare into the basket, until suddenly a small smile appeared on his lips and he let out a strange hissing sound. A feeling of triumph washed over Severus. The hiss was promptly answered in kind from inside the basket, and after a few turns of back and forth, Harry reached into it and pulled out a small snake that wrapped itself around his wrist. Several people gasped, and Charlie Weasley let out a delighted sound, leaning closer excitedly. The snake was nothing short of breathtaking. While at first sight its scales appeared to be black, they shimmered iridescent as soon as they were touched by light, refracting it back into the room as colourful sparkles.

“It’s an _Echena iraedescia_ , also known as a prism viper,” Severus explained. “Prism vipers have several magical abilities, one of them being rudimentary healing. Their skin is used in a variety of healing potions, some of which require fresh scales. Furthermore, its venom can be used in certain potions as well, although far fewer than the skin. This one is still practically a baby, so it—”

“It’s a she,” Harry threw in, and Severus smiled.

“My apologies, _she_ isn’t venomous yet, or at least not lethally so. Nevertheless, I have prepared several vials of anti-venom, for the unlikely scenario that you might ever need it. From what I’ve heard they’re loyal creatures if treated right, and I thought she might be a useful companion—especially given your ability to actually talk to snakes.”

“Wicked,” the twins said in unison, eyes wide with excitement.

Their sentiment, however, was not shared by everyone, and Severus suppressed a groan as Molly raised her voice in outrage.

“Severus, you can not give a deadly snake to a boy! This isn’t a pet!” she cried. “I won’t allow it!”

Severus’ expression darkened. “Last I checked it wasn’t up to you to decide what Harry can or can not receive as a gift,” he drawled.

Molly’s face turned red as she opened her mouth to retort but, to Severus’ surprise, Charlie jumped in before she could say another word.

“Give it a rest, Mum, it’s just a snake. I’ve got a friend who has a Boomslang and it would never hurt him, and he isn’t even a Parselmouth.”

“You can’t possibly trust a wild animal not to bite—”

“It’s not a wild animal if raised by humans,” Charlie interrupted her. Molly made an annoyed noise and fully turned to face Charlie now.

“Just because you raise a beast doesn’t mean that it won’t hurt you!”

“Just because a creature has the ability to hurt you doesn’t mean that it will!”

Severus watched their argument with mild amusement. It sounded like this wasn’t the first time they were having this fight. Harry was meanwhile exchanging soft hisses with the snake, holding it up in front of his face. It was strange to see Parseltongue used so casually, and Severus noticed that Draco was watching Harry with open fascination and barely concealed lust.

“Do you like it?” Severus asked softly, while the argument between Molly and Charlie continued in the background.

“She’s incredible,” said Harry, eyes fixed on the snake. “She says she doesn’t have a name yet, though.” He looked around sheepishly. “Any ideas?”

Immediately, the twins, Draco, Ginevra and Ronald Weasley began to list suggestions, and Severus leaned back with a satisfied smile. Apparently he hadn’t been all that wrong about what Harry would appreciate as a gift, even though it had undoubtedly been a risk to choose a live pet, and a lethal one at that.

“Quite the present,” murmured Remus, giving Severus an amused smirk that sent a shiver down his spine.

“I missed fifteen birthdays, there’s a lot to catch up on,” he replied smoothly, smiling back at Remus.

Remus hummed in agreement. “Yes, I know what you mean.”

They fell silent then, watching as the debate about the snake’s name narrowed down to a choice between constellation names, as was traditional for the Black family, or names related to the snake’s own nature. Soon there were only two names left to choose between: Iris, because of the rainbow reflections created by the snake’s skin, or Cassiopeia. They couldn’t seem to agree on either of them though.

“How about Sirona?” Remus spoke up unexpectedly and promptly earned himself six surprised looks.

“Sirona?” Harry repeated questioningly.

“It’s the name of a Celtic healing goddess. Since she has healing abilities and the scales are so useful for healing potions, it would be quite fitting, don’t you think?”

Harry cocked his head and pondered that for a moment, then a smile spread on his face.

“Sirona, I like it,” he said, turning to Draco. “What do you think?”

“It’s certainly better than Iris,” replied Draco.

Harry rolled his eyes and hissed at the snake again, his smile widening.

“She likes it too, so I suppose that settles it,” he declared. “Her name is Sirona.”

Remus smiled widely and Severus found himself staring. Had he always smiled like that? How had he never noticed?

In the meantime, the argument between Charlie and Molly was slowly turning into a shouting match, drawing everyone’s attention back to them. Arthur was trying to intervene, but Molly ignored him, and Charlie would not let Bill dissuade him either. It was Narcissa who eventually put an end to it by summoning one of the house-elves—Kibsy, Severus thought, although he wasn’t entirely sure—and loudly asking how far along the dinner preparations were. When the elf answered that dinner would soon be served, she announced that they would now relocate to the dining room downstairs, her tone making it clear that there was no argument about it.

Harry got up immediately and asked, “Can I help you with anything, Narcissa?”

She shook her head. 

“You do nothing at all today, my darling, it’s your birthday,” she said dismissively, waving him away before adding, “Do pick up your gifts and bring them to your room before dinner, though.”

He smiled and turned to collect his presents. Severus’ eyes followed him as he walked to the back of the room, but lingered on Molly as his gaze passed over her. She was frowning deeply, not at Charlie from their argument, but at Narcissa. Severus had to suppress a scoff. Of course Molly would not appreciate to see someone else in charge of the household—she was so used to be in control.

Unsurprisingly, Molly promptly offered her help to Narcissa as well, which the latter politely declined, saying that she had plenty of aid from the elves. When Molly bristled slightly, a look of mild exasperation flitted through Narcissa’s eyes, gone so quickly Severus wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t known the woman so well, and she conceded that Molly join her to check on the dinner preparations. 

After the two women left, the rest of the group began to file out of the room as well, Harry taking a detour to his room to put away his presents. Sirona had curled herself around his neck, and it didn’t look like he was about to put the snake down again anytime soon. Severus was pleased with himself.

He was the last one to get up, trailing after Remus as they made their way to the dining room. Just when he was about to strike up a conversation with the man, he heard Harry’s voice behind his back.

“He’s not really like that, Ron, I’ve told you before.”

“That was before I knew you were _dating_ him! It’s _Malfoy,”_ Weasley said, sounding outraged. He must’ve followed Harry upstairs to talk to him. “He’s bullied all of us for five years, how many times has he thrown hexes at you? Or slurs at Hermione?”

“You already said that and I told you that he intends to apologise to all of you. He already apologised to Hermione and she accepted it,” Harry argued back. “If she can give him a chance, you should too.”

Weasley grunted, then after a pause conceded, “Fine, I’ll give him a chance. That doesn’t mean I trust him, though.”

“Can you trust me when I say that _I_ trust him?”

There was another pause before Weasley answered, “Alright, mate. You really mean it? With him? It’s not just…I don’t know, frustration from being cooped up in here?”

“I am, Ron. I can’t really explain it, but somehow things just…fell into place with him. It just feels right, you know what I mean?”

“Not really, no,” Weasley replied. “I can’t say anything to make you see reason, can I?”

“No, you really can’t,” Harry confirmed, and Severus could hear that he was smiling.

“Thought so. Just one thing, though: You’re my best mate, but I won’t hang around with Malfoy for you.”

Harry laughed. “No, just don’t antagonise him and I’m happy. He’s a permanent part of my life now.”

“I’ll have to live with that, I suppose.”

“Thanks, mate,” Harry said cheerfully.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, consider it a birthday gift,” Weasley grunted, then added so quietly Severus barely heard him, “We’ll talk about the other thing some more later, alright?”

“The other thing?”

“You know—” Weasley’s voice dropped too low to understand, but Severus was fairly sure he was talking about him. About the fact that he was Harry’s father. Because that was something that had to be talked about, something to be discussed. 

He felt unease settle in his stomach like pebble stones. The Weasleys had long since taken the role of Harry’s surrogate family, he had known that already. But so far he had successfully avoided to let himself consider what would happen if they truly disapproved of him, if they tried to keep Harry from him. Would Harry let them? Would he prefer them over him? He already had a solid father-figure in Remus, plus Severus was fairly sure Harry was beginning to view Narcissa as somewhat of a mother-figure as well. With the addition of the Weasleys, Harry had plenty of family by now. What did he really need _him_ for?

Severus and Remus reached the dining room then and stepped inside, slowing down for a moment in surprise. The table had been slightly enlarged to accommodate fifteen people, and the room was filled with subtly glowing decorations. Narcissa had done a thorough job in preparing Grimmauld Place for Harry’s birthday—or at least given comprehensive orders to the elves.

The Weasleys were arranging themselves around the dining table, and Severus watched with considerable amusement as the elves redirected them into an apparently previously planned seating order. His usual seat stayed empty, as did Remus’, and they both settled down at the upper end of the table. Draco was already seated and watching the proceedings with a blank expression—one that Severus knew was probably concealing a wicked grin. Narcissa had truly established her dominance here, and by association so had Draco. Severus almost envied him for that association.

Harry sank into his spot at the head of the table with a small grin on his face, before whispering something to Draco that made the Slytherin’s neutral mask slip for a second and give way to a flicker of surprise, followed by amusement. Draco seemed much more at ease now that Harry was with him again. Severus could relate to the sentiment—he was glad to stay close to Remus who acted as somewhat of a buffer between him and any potential hostility from former or current students, or from Molly Weasley who was periodically sending him glares that he assumed were supposed to be subtle.

Once everyone was seated, the elves served dinner—Beef Wellington, one of Harry’s favourites, at least based on Severus’ observations over the past month. Conversation flowed naturally, although that could easily have been attributed to the fact that there was a rather crisp divide between the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place at the head of the table and the Weasleys plus entourage occupying the lower half of it. To Severus’ surprise, it did not take too long for an exchange to emerge between Narcissa and Molly of all people. Though, considering what they were discussing, perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised at all.

“Harry looks…well,” Molly admitted somewhat grudgingly. “Better than he usually does, at least, but is he eating enough? He forgets whole meals sometimes unless I remind him.”

“He has a tendency to skip meals, yes, but once he sits down he does eat well. He’s quite a handsome young man, isn’t he?” Narcissa replied, unveiled pride in her voice.

Molly wrinkled her nose a little but nodded.

“He is a wonderful boy. I must admit that it is good to know that someone with parenting experience is looking out for him—no offence, Remus.” 

It wasn’t lost on Severus that she had omitted him completely, not even giving him the courtesy of assuming that he was an insufficient guardian—no, her omission made it clear that she didn’t consider him one of Harry’s guardians at all.

“None taken,” Remus replied nonchalantly.

“It’s a pleasure,” Narcissa said graciously, and promptly began to interrogate Molly about Harry’s preferences in the past. If nothing else, those two could at least bond over their shared concern for Harry’s nutritional well-being. It was an unlikely alliance, but Severus wasn’t wholly surprised by it now that he thought about it. Both Molly and Narcissa were mothers at their core, and their first priority would always be their children. 

The thought made Severus uncomfortable. They considered Harry their child, both of them. What claim did he really have on Harry amidst experienced mothers and with all his negative history with Harry? Perhaps Molly’s attitude towards him wasn’t entirely unfounded.

His brooding was interrupted by Charlie Weasley, who wanted to know everything Severus could tell him about prism vipers, and for the remainder of their dinner Severus was too preoccupied to worry more about his place in Harry’s life. Finally, the elves cleared the table and Narcissa announced that they would be returning to the drawing room now.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Severus muttered under his breath.

He hadn’t intended for anyone to hear, but Remus chuckled next to him and gave him an amused look.

“Narcissa planned it to be ‘open ended’ if I recall correctly,” said Remus.

Severus groaned. It was barely seven o’clock—open ended meant that the Weasleys could very well stay until midnight. With how much energy it required to keep up a polite mask and pretend to be sociable, he wouldn’t survive this much longer. Unless…

“Shall I get a bottle of firewhisky from the cellar?” he suggested, smirking at Remus.

“Gods yes,” Remus breathed, eyes lighting up a little. It sent a shudder through Severus, and he chuckled, hoping it wasn’t too obvious.

“Keep a seat free for me?”

“Of course,” replied Remus, before following the Weasleys upstairs.

Severus watched him go. Suddenly noticing that he was staring, he shook himself and turned towards the basement. The bottle of firewhisky was retrieved quickly, and he was already on his way back to the drawing room when a familiar voice made him freeze in place on the stairs.

“Yes, Mrs Weasley, I—”

“Oh please, Harry, do call me Molly. It’s high time we left the formalities behind,” Molly interrupted, and Severus had to smother a laugh. Of course she would offer Harry to call her Molly _now_ , after seeing how close he was to Narcissa. The woman really was rather predictable.

“Uh, okay, sure,” said Harry, sounding a little confused.

“I just want to make sure you’re really alright, dear,” Molly went on. “This can’t have been easy for you, with everything that’s happened and then with the _Malfoys_ here on top of it all.”

“Yeah, I mean it wasn’t. It isn’t. But the Malfoys—”

“Of course it isn’t! Oh you poor thing, I can’t even imagine what you have to deal with! And to find out that _he’s_ your father— If there’s anything I can do for you, just say the word.”

“It’s alright. Really, Mrs— er, Molly. Remus is looking out for me and Narcissa and Draco, too. I _like_ having them here. And Severus— We’re working on it, I guess.”

“Yes, well, I just want you to know that you always have a place in our family, no matter what. I see you as much as my son as the rest of my children, do you understand? You can always come to us if, well, if there’s anything at all that you need.”

“Thank you, Molly,” said Harry, his voice thick with emotion. “I really needed to hear that, I think. I was worried you wouldn’t— Now that I theoretically have a father, I thought—”

“Oh my sweet boy, come here. It doesn’t make any difference to me whether you have a father who’s alive or not.”

Severus heard some shuffling and something that sounded like whispered words. He didn’t move. He _couldn’t_ move. 

_Theoretically._

He had been right, Harry didn’t want him. Harry tolerated him because he thought he had to, but he didn’t want him as a father.

_Of course he doesn’t, you were horrible to him for years. Did you really think he’d simply forgive that? That he’d actually forgive you for the prophecy? He just wanted to avoid conflict, that’s why he was so composed._

Severus’ chest felt tight. Unbearably tight. A wave of emotion threatened to overcome him and, almost instinctively, he slammed his Occlumency shields up. Instantly, he was calm. Detached.

Harry didn’t want him. That was to be expected. No reason to be upset. He’d simply keep his distance from now on, allow the boy to live his life in peace. He could protect him from afar, there was no need for him to be _emotionally_ involved in Harry’s life. Remus and Molly loved Harry like their own son, the boy would want for nothing if he just left it all up to them. He’d be safe and loved and far away from the dangers of Severus’ position, too. It was sensible, really.

“Let’s go upstairs, shall we?” said Molly, and Severus heard them walk up the stairs to join the rest of the group.

He didn’t follow for a long moment, strengthening his Occlumency shields, letting the mask settle firmly. After what must’ve been several minutes, he finally moved again, although he felt like he was in a trance. He reached the drawing room, slipped in quietly, set the bottle of firewhisky down in front of Remus, and left, ignoring the worried look Remus gave him.

He wasn’t in the mood for people anymore.

When a knock sounded on his bedroom door barely half an hour later, he knew it must be Remus. He ignored it. There was no point in continuing to talk to the man. The only reason Remus had ever been friendly to him was the fact that he was Harry’s father. As soon as Remus figured out that Harry did not want him, Remus wouldn’t want him anymore either. Best to just cut it off now.

Best to get used to being alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this one was a bit difficult to write to be honest, mostly because Severus himself is predominantly an observer in this situation which makes his POV difficult. But still, his reaction to Molly’s declaration is important, because it’s so utterly _Severus_ to retreat completely at the slightest indication of rejection.
> 
> How do you like Sirona? I considered several species (real and fictional ones) but ultimately decided to come up with my own, because I wanted her to have certain attributes (some aren't mentioned yet). Mostly the colour thing. Why? Because I am obsessed with colours. 
> 
> As always I hope you enjoyed it and thank you for reading <3  
> \- Z.


	25. Our Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s birthday comes to an end.

Harry sank back into the couch with a sigh, enjoying the relative quiet of his room compared to the noise in the drawing room. Hermione looked around appreciatively as she settled into the armchair to his right, while Ron sat down in the one to his left.

“The room is barely recognisable,” remarked Hermione. “It’s beautiful now.” 

Harry nodded. “Yeah, Sirius did a thorough job with remodelling. Narcissa isn’t half bad at it either, we’ve been going through the rest of the bedrooms on the second floor. Two are already done, so technically we could even house guests.”

“It’s so weird to hear you talk about the Malfoys so casually,” said Ron.

Harry gave him a pointed look and Ron shrank back into the armchair a little.

“Just saying,” he murmured, taking a sip of his butterbeer.

“I know it looks like a sudden change, but they’ve been here for over a month,” said Harry. “You don’t know them like I do. Draco and I are going to face enough backlash at Hogwarts, I was hoping you wouldn’t be part of it. Just trust me for once”

“We always trust you, Harry,” Hermione said indignantly.

“Yeah, right,” Harry scoffed.

“We do!” she exclaimed, looking a little offended.

He decided it’d probably be best not to point out that their trust usually had to be gained through an argument and that there had been several occasions in which they’d mistrusted him enough to either turn their backs on him or go over his head, so he just nodded and reached for his own butterbeer. Draco was still downstairs, discussing who-knows-what with the twins. Somehow Harry thought that these three could get along a little too well.

“I must say, though, I am surprised that you allowed Mrs Malfoy bringing three house-elves here. I thought you were unhappy about Kreacher being here already.” The disapproval was clear in Hermione’s voice. That much about trusting his judgement.

“I was unhappy about Kreacher because he’s unpleasant to be around,” Harry answered evenly. “And before you get all wound-up about it: No, Narcissa is not mistreating them. Yes, they like working for her. No, they do not want to be freed.”

If looks could kill, Harry would’ve died on the spot. He met Hermione’s glare steadily, until she eventually sighed and her expression softened. She knew when she was fighting a losing battle.

Harry took another sip of his butterbeer and let her get over her indignation in her own time. Ron glanced back and forth between them as if he was unsure whether to say anything or not.

Eventually, she gave him a worried look and asked, “So, how are you really doing?”

He sighed. “I’m alright, really. Not gonna lie, it’s been a lot to take in recently, and I haven’t even told you about everything yet, but I’m managing.”

“There’s more?” Ron asked incredulously and Harry laughed. Just a few hours ago at the beginning of the party, Ron had anxiously asked about the contents of the prophecy. Apparently Harry’s relationship reveal had shocked him so thoroughly that he’d promptly forgotten about it again.

“Afraid so,” he said, and filled them in on the prophecy. As expected, they were shocked.

“We thought the _Daily Prophet_ was just exaggerating with the whole ‘Chosen One’ business,” Hermione breathed, her eyes wide.

“Nope, they got it right for once,” said Harry.

“Blimey, mate. So you really have to kill You-Know-Who?” asked Ron.

“Yep. But Remus is helping me with my duelling skills and he’s teaching me to apparate. Severus isn’t bad at defence either, so maybe he’ll be able to show me a thing or two as well, and Draco is a good opponent to practice with. Even Dumbledore said he wants to teach me once the new school year starts.” He grinned. “You know, this time I’ll be properly prepared at least, unlike the last four times I faced Voldemort.”

Ron and Hermione stared at him in horror. Before they had the chance to collect themselves again, the door opened and Draco strode in, his eyes lighting up behind his blank Malfoy mask when he saw Harry.

“There you are,” he said with a smile. 

“Jeez, Malfoy, have you ever heard of knocking before walking into someone else’s room?” Ron asked, his voice tight. “We’re having a private conversation.”

Harry laughed at that, earning himself a startled look from Ron.

“Draco already knows about the prophecy,” he said with a grin and gestured for Draco to join him on the couch.

Ron gave him an incredulous look. “He does?!”

“Of course he does,” replied Harry, pressing a kiss to Draco’s temple as the Slytherin settled down next to him, Harry’s arm slung around his shoulders. Addressing Draco he added, “Why’d you come upstairs?”

“Had to get away from the noise a bit,” Draco said, “Bill and Charlie started to teach the twins sea shantys, and it was overall a bit much down there.”

“And you couldn’t go to your own room?” Ron snapped, still obviously unhappy about Draco’s presence. Draco flinched slightly, but before he could even begin to move away, Harry tightened his arm around him, pulling him closer.

“This is his room,” Harry declared calmly.

Ron gaped at him and Hermione’s eyebrows rose almost all the way to her hairline, but Harry’s attention was on Draco’s reaction. Sure, he had spent every night here since their shopping trip, and most of his clothes and toiletries had found their way into Harry’s closet and bathroom, but they had never explicitly agreed that Draco had fully moved in here. 

To his relief, Draco relaxed against him immediately and when he looked down, he was met with sparkling silver eyes that shone with an undoubtedly positive emotion, even though Harry couldn’t exactly decipher what it was. It was good enough in Harry’s book that he didn’t look appalled at the idea. Much unlike Ron.

Ron looked aghast. Hermione was better at concealing her emotions, but it was clear that she was just as surprised. Harry couldn’t help himself, he laughed.

Draco had meanwhile recovered enough from Harry’s announcement to give Ron his signature Malfoy-eyebrow and drawled, “Yes, Ronald, this is my room. Problem?”

Ron bristled and his face turned an interesting shade of red. “Mate, are you sure it’s a good idea to trust _Malfoy_ with information like that?”

Harry drew his eyebrows together. “Yes, as a matter of fact I am.”

“His father tried to kill us exactly for that prophecy!”

“I’m right here, you know,” Draco drawled.

“For the last time, Ron, Draco isn’t his father,” said Harry, a hint of anger in his voice.

“That doesn’t make him trustworthy,” Ron retorted.

“Ron, maybe we should—” Hermione began, but Ron interrupted her.

“I’m serious! This isn’t a game, how can we be sure he won’t run to You-Know-Who as soon as he gets the chance? For real, Harry, how can you—”

 _“That’s enough!”_ Harry shouted, and Ron fell silent immediately, staring at him wide-eyed. 

Harry’s blood was boiling and he had to fight hard to control himself. He felt Draco’s hand on his thigh giving it a light squeeze, grounding him a little. Sirona stirred around his neck and he quickly reached up to soothe her.

Hermione cleared her throat and, shooting Ron a warning look, bluntly changed the topic. “I wonder what Dumbledore is going to teach you.”

“He refused to say,” replied Harry, slowly calming down, “but I’m guessing it’s more than combat spells.”

Hermione frowned, regarding Harry with a thoughtful look. 

“Yes, I suppose so. Speaking of things to learn,” she continued, her face lighting up now as she reached into her bag that sat on the floor beside her armchair, “I want to see those healing books you found. I brought you my third year books for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, though I’m not sure how much good they’ll do you without an instructor.”

“I can help him if needed,” Draco interjected, earning a raised eyebrow from Hermione and a scoff from Ron. “What? I’ve had the best grades in our class after you in both those courses since third year. I’m sure I can teach him the basics at least, as could you, or couldn’t you?”

Hermione blinked at him in barely veiled shock, before shaking herself a little and nodding. “Yes, I suppose I could,” she admitted.

She held the books out to Harry, who took them eagerly out of her arms, and immediately flipped open _An Introduction to Reading Runes_. He ignored her bemused look as he read through the table of contents of the other two books as well, trying to discern whether this would actually help him with his healing forms or not. Arithmancy seemed far more complicated than runes, but he supposed it didn’t matter too much. He would learn if it was necessary.

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice finally snapped him out of his excited distraction.

“Hm? What? Sorry,” he apologised, realising that she was looking at him expectantly.

“The healing books?”

“Oh, right! Which one did you want to look at specifically? I wouldn’t want to drop all of them on you, you’d be buried.”

She gave him a disbelieving stare and he smirked.

“Your favourite one then,” Hermione said eventually. 

With a grin, he waved his wand at the desk and summoned _Healing Forms and Spells_. Hermione’s eyebrows shot up.

“Harry! Since when can you do wordless magic?” asked Ron, looking stunned.

“Uh— Like a month or so? Maybe a little longer? I saw that Remus and Narcissa cast most of their spells wordlessly, so I thought I’d give it a try. It’s quite easy to be honest, I was expecting it to be much more difficult.”

“Wicked, mate,” Ron breathed.

“I bet you could do it, too,” Harry said enthusiastically. “Just give it a try.”

Hermione was still studying him with obvious surprise on her face. After a few more seconds, she seemed to catch herself again and gave him an impressed look, saying, “Harry, that’s N.E.W.T. level magic.”

“Well, we’re going to be N.E.W.T. students this year, right?” he replied with a shrug.

“I mean, yes, but it’s still impressive. You seem to be rather comfortable with it already,” she said. There was something in her voice Harry couldn’t quite place, an edge he hadn’t heard before.

He shrugged again. “I don’t think about it too much to be honest.”

“Well, that much was obvious,” Draco laughed.

Harry gave him a baffled look. “What do you mean?”

“You mean apart from the fact that you’re the most distracted person I know?”

“Git,” said Harry, shoving him playfully. “Seriously, though, what do you mean? They’re all simple spells, why _would_ I give much thought to them?”

“I’ve seen you cast a wordless Patronus, darling. Not what I’d call a simple spell.”

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. “A _Patronus?_ Wordless? Harry, that is really advanced magic! Most people cast spells like that verbally their entire life. How on earth did you manage that so quickly?”

Harry furrowed his brows at her. Sure, the first couple spells had been a bit more difficult to learn, but once he’d gotten the hang of the basic… _feel_ of wordless spells, everything else had just kind of worked for him. He really hadn’t even thought about the fact that he was casting wordlessly when he’d summoned that Patronus to call for Remus’ help.

“As I said, I don’t really think about it, I just do it.”

Hermione looked rather incredulous and Harry felt weirdly tense as silence settled over the room.

“Didn’t you want to look at the book?” Harry asked eventually. 

Hermione gave him a startled look, before remembering why Harry had used wordless magic to begin with and started to flip through the pages. Harry snuggled closer to Draco and was just about to address Ron to start a conversation about Quidditch when Hermione gasped.

“Those are wandless spells!” she exclaimed.

“They’re called forms, actually,” Harry corrected and Draco sniggered.

“Are you telling me you’ve not just started to do wordless, but also _wandless_ magic?!”

“It’s not like I’m casting _everything_ wandlessly,” he protested, automatically getting defensive because of her accusatory tone. “Just those healing forms. And a few spells I know quite well already or spells that are kinda intuitive.”

“Intuitive? What do you mean by intuitive?” Hermione prodded. Harry squirmed, trying to find the right words to explain what he meant.

“I’m afraid that’s a pointless discussion to have with him,” Draco cut in and Harry looked down at the Slytherin in surprise. 

Hermione raised a questioning eyebrow at Draco and he sighed.

“Harry doesn’t approach magic like you do—like _we_ do. I keep perfect control over my magic, I cast spells precisely and efficiently because I _know_ exactly how to cast them—if I don’t _understand_ , I struggle with a spell. Sure, there’s a sort of instinctive aspect to it, but that’s just additional to me. Harry is the opposite, he does everything by instinct and the knowing is additional. I’ve seen Remus try to teach him new spells, and whenever there was too much focus on technique or theory, it took him much longer until he got it. He does best if he just… _does._ ” He smiled at Harry. “We’ve been over this several times already when we’ve discussed spells, and he can’t really explain how it works. Trust me, it’s a mystery to me, too.”

Harry stared at him in wonder. Sure, he remembered those discussions with Draco, when they’d tried to explain spells to each other and neither could really seem to grasp the other’s approach to learning them, but he hadn’t thought about it in that much depth. Now that he did, though, Remus’ attempt at teaching him a shield-breaker charm flashed through his memory. It was a tricky one, wand movement, incantation and intent had to be exactly right—a fact which Remus had repeatedly mentioned as he explained it. Harry had struggled with it for _days_ , until Draco had rolled his eyes at him one afternoon and told him to _stop thinking so much_ , before snogging him so passionately that Harry couldn’t have strung together a coherent sentence if he’d tried. The charm had worked on his first attempt right afterwards.

“If he does everything instinctively, though, how was he able to teach the DA so effectively last year then?” Hermione argued back. “I distinctly remember him explaining spells to me, and as you said about yourself, if I don’t understand a spell I have much more trouble with it.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t know or understand the spells he casts, I’m saying that understanding is not the key for him to get a spell right,” replied Draco.

Hermione fell silent, looking thoughtful. Harry felt increasingly uncomfortable under her scrutiny and almost breathed a sigh of relief when a knock on the door saved him.

“Yes?” he called.

Remus poked his head into the room and informed them that the Weasleys were about to leave, so Ron and Hermione should gather their things. Relieved he jumped off the couch, pulling Draco up with him. He ignored Hermione’s pointed looks as best as he could as they headed downstairs and he began to make his round of goodbyes. When it was Hermione’s turn, she merely said that they would talk about this next time, but let it go otherwise. He knew her well enough to understand that as an additional birthday gift.

Twenty minutes later, the front door of Grimmauld Place closed behind the last Weasley and Harry let out a relieved sigh. No matter how much he loved them all, that had been exhausting.

Draco chuckled at his expression and pulled him upstairs, pausing only to kiss Narcissa on the cheek as they passed her. When they finally made it back to their room, Harry immediately collapsed face first unto the bed with a groan.

“I agree wholeheartedly, dear,” drawled Draco, as he flopped down on the mattress next to him.

Harry lifted his head to give Draco a questioning look. “Dear?”

“Problem?”

“Last night it was ‘darling’,” Harry pointed out with a smirk.

“Well, I’m testing different options,” replied Draco haughtily.

Harry laughed softly. “Ah, I see. Perhaps I should start testing some as well then, _sweetheart_.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but Harry could see a smile tugging on his lips. Slinging an arm around Draco’s waist, Harry pulled the Slytherin towards himself and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips.

“You survived,” he remarked jokingly, eliciting an amused chuckle from Draco.

“Yes,” Draco responded, “I survived.”

“Was it as bad as you feared?”

“No,” he admitted. “Although I’m fairly sure that Weasley—I mean, Ron—wanted to hex my head off more than once. It was to be expected I guess. I like the twins, though, and I suppose Charlie and Bill aren’t too bad either.”

Harry beamed at him. “I’m proud of you, you know?”

“You better be, I put up with Weasleys for you, Potter,” replied Draco, his best Malfoy-arrogance on his face.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered. He leaned in, letting his lips hover above Draco’s, just close enough to lightly brush when Draco smiled. For a moment, Harry relished the tension between them, deliberately waiting to close the distance. As expected, Draco didn’t stand for that tease for long and he pulled him in, moulding their mouths together and drawing a moan from Harry. He would _never_ get used to kissing Draco. When they finally broke apart again, they were both panting slightly, and Draco gave him a devilish smirk. 

“You’re welcome, sugar, happy birthday again.”

 _“Sugar?”_ Harry repeated exasperatedly, but he smiled.

“No?” Draco asked with a wide grin.

“Just unexpected. I would’ve figured you’d go for more…traditional pet-names.”

“I would never artificially limit my options like that.”

Harry laughed as he pulled away, moving towards the edge of the bed. Getting up he said, “That’s fair. Come on, let’s get ready for bed, I’m exhausted.”

He extended a hand towards Draco to help him up. The Slytherin groaned, but took it and let Harry pull him off the bed. They brushed their teeth quickly and Harry went back to the bedroom so Draco could take his shower. It still made no sense to him how anyone could opt to shower in the evening instead of in the morning. If Harry didn’t get his morning shower he was useless for hours.

He settled Sirona over by the seating area in her basket with a generous warming charm for the night. She seemed quite content, but Harry promised to get her a proper terrarium as soon as he could, which she accepted somewhat hesitantly. Maybe she really was happy as it was. 

After pulling one of his new pyjamas from a drawer, Harry was just about to get changed for bed behind closed doors as usual when he hesitated, remembering the night before. 

Draco had _seen_. He had seen everything and he hadn’t left. And really, if Harry was completely honest with himself, the secret of those scars had been the main reason—the _only_ reason—why he’d avoided to let things go any further between them. The fear of Draco’s reaction, of him being disgusted by Harry, of him changing his mind about them because of it. Now that Draco knew, now that he had seen, Harry’s desire to _touch_ him suddenly far outweighed his insecurity.

Images bloomed in his mind and his heart began to race. No, he didn’t have any experience, but neither did Draco. They could learn together if he just allowed it, because he was fairly certain that Draco had been holding back for Harry’s benefit, rather than his own. He’d felt enough of Draco’s physical reactions to know that his boyfriend was certainly not unaffected by their snog sessions, no matter how tame they had stayed so far. _Gods,_ Harry wanted them to not stay tame anymore.

Before his anxiety could talk him out of it, he resolutely put the pyjamas back into the drawer and simply stripped down to his pants instead before crawling into bed and casting a privacy charm in Sirona’s direction. No need for a baby snake to see…things. Potentially. Maybe.

His pulse was still racing, so he summoned a book to distract himself with. It didn’t really work. His thoughts kept wandering back to imagining all the possible ways in which Draco might react, the scenarios ranging from appallingly pessimistic to steamy enough to make Harry’s blood flow south. Did Draco’s showers always take that long? 

Just as he was about to change his mind and get up to retrieve his pyjamas after all, the bathroom door opened and Draco stepped out, absent-mindedly squeezing his hair with a towel. Harry’s heart stuttered when Draco’s gaze drifted towards the bed—and continued right over him without any reaction. For the tiniest moment something like disappointment rose in Harry’s gut, but it quickly gave way to nervous excitement when Draco suddenly froze and his widening eyes flew back to Harry faster than he’d ever seen before. Harry almost laughed at the double-take, but the sound got stuck in his throat which had closed up the second Draco had come out of the bathroom, and he could only smile pathetically.

Draco swallowed visibly as the significance of it seemed to dawn on him, still staring at Harry. Neither of them spoke and Harry’s insides coiled up tighter and tighter as seconds ticked by, until Draco _finally_ broke the silence.

“I thought it was _your_ birthday, Potter, not mine,” he said, trying and failing to drawl as he usually did, his voice tight.

This time Harry managed to laugh as his tension drained away. This was Draco.

“It is,” confirmed Harry, “and I think that should earn me some more attention from you, now that we finally have some time to ourselves in _our_ room.”

He flashed Draco a mischievous smile and saw Draco’s expression morph from stunned to almost predatory. The impression was only reinforced by the way Draco prowled across the room and climbed up unto the bed, taking the book out of Harry’s hands and throwing it carelessly on the bedside table, as he came to hover above him. 

Their eyes met. Draco’s pupils were blown wide, swallowing the silver iris, his expression carnal. It merely stoked Harry’s need for him further. After only a short moment of glorious tension, Harry surged up to kiss him, Draco meeting him halfway. 

Their chests were pressed together as they kissed, and suddenly Harry was incredibly bothered by the silk top that Draco was wearing. He wanted to, no, _needed_ to feel Draco’s skin against his own. He tugged the shirt up impatiently, prompting Draco to sit up and pull it over his head. It landed somewhere on the floor, not that either of them paid it any heed.

Despite having seen Draco shirtless plenty of times, Harry raked his eyes appreciatively over the pale chest as if it was completely novel to him. No, he would never get used to that sight, he was sure of it. His gaze travelled up to Draco’s face and found himself breathless as he took in Draco’s flushed cheeks, slightly swollen lips and dishevelled hair.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he breathed without even thinking about it. 

Draco’s cheeks coloured even more and Harry wrapped a hand around the back of his neck to pull him down into another kiss. Every thought was wiped from Harry’s mind as his hands wandered all over Draco’s skin, tangled in his silvery-blond hair to pull a little before letting go again and returning to their wandering while they kept snogging each other senseless. Draco groaned against Harry’s lips as his palm passed over a pebbled nipple, and Harry swallowed the sound with a grin, bringing his hand back and teasing the spot some more, satisfied by the shiver that ran through Draco, as Draco pressed in impossibly closer. 

The slight shift in position brought Draco’s hardness that had been pressing into Harry’s hip right into alignment with Harry’s own erection and the sudden unexpected heat and friction had his eyes flying open with a gasp, followed by a deep moan he couldn’t possibly have held back. Instinctively his body sought more of it, his hips grinding upwards. Draco met him halfway and they both groaned, breaking their kiss.

It took Harry a second to focus his vision. When it cleared, he found Draco’s eyes glazed over with lust. His breath caught at the thought that _he had done this to him_. Suddenly he felt much more confident, his lack of experience barely a factor worth considering. 

This was Draco. He knew Draco, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. He knew Draco’s triggers like his own, if not yet physically then at least mentally, knew their push and pull that they’d been engaging in all those years better than anything else.

Sinking his teeth into Draco’s neck, he let his hands travel down to grab Draco’s butt and pushed him down, grinding their groins together harder.

“Fuck, _Harry,”_ Draco gasped and the wrecked sound of his voice went straight to Harry’s cock.

He flipped them over in one smooth motion, his mouth still laving down Draco’s throat towards his chest. Long, delicate fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him hiss slightly. Still trailing kisses down Draco’s pale torso, he glanced up at his boyfriend’s face and the sight nearly took his breath away again. How could anyone be _that_ perfect?

The sudden need to kiss him again had Harry surging up, crashing their lips together. His hands found Draco’s, pushing them up above his head and into the mattress with their fingers laced together. Draco whimpered into his mouth and it sent hot shivers down Harry’s spine.

“Gods, Draco,” he murmured breathlessly, mouth wandering along Draco’s jaw, “you are absolutely…” he nipped at his jawbone, “fucking…” his teeth caught Draco’s ear, making him squirm beneath him, _“perfect.”_

 _“Harry,”_ Draco moaned, trying to latch onto Harry’s neck in return, but Harry still had their hands firmly pressed down to the bed and he moved just too far for Draco to reach. Indignation warred with arousal on Draco’s face for a moment, then he whined, “Harry, please.”

Harry smirked down at him. “Please what?”

Draco rolled his eyes so hard that only the whites were visible for a moment. “Fucking— Let me— Come back here!” He pushed against Harry’s grip, but with his arms pinned above his head he was at a disadvantage.

With a mischievous grin Harry shook his head. “I want to look at you, baby. So bloody gorgeous, and all mine.”

A frustrated noise escaped Draco’s throat, but Harry felt his pyjama-clad erection twitch against his own in unmistakeable excitement. Still grinning, he bent down to let his lips brush along Draco’s chest until he found a hard pink nipple. For a moment he just hovered above it, his breath ghosting over pale skin and letting Draco squirm until a soft whimper fell from those perfect lips, then, without any warning, he caught it between his teeth and pulled ever so slightly before sucking it into his mouth. Draco’s whole body jerked up as he let out a loud whine.

“Oh, _fuck!”_ The words were breathless and Harry smirked up at the Slytherin, his lips still around Draco’s nipple. “Harry, please, I need to touch you, _please!”_

With his hands still trapped, Draco resorted to wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist to pull him closer, dragging him away from his chest. The motion pushed their groins straight together again, making them both gasp. Their faces were only inches apart now and Draco took the opportunity to surge up into a passionate kiss. 

Harry’s mind was overloaded with sensations. Draco’s lips were hot against his, his skin soft as silk, and even through two layers of clothing Harry could feel his cock pulse hot next to his own. Gasping for breath he pulled back, suddenly overcome with emotion and the realisation of what was happening. He stared down at Draco, who met his gaze steadily, silver eyes burning fiery. The moment stretched, and pure disbelief rose in Harry’s chest.

“How the fuck do I even deserve you?” he murmured incredulously, shaking his head in amazement.

Draco just snorted and raised an eyebrow at him, his gaze becoming more focused. “Have you _met_ yourself? Have you _looked_ at yourself?” He shook his head. “I should be the one asking that question, Harry.”

Draco’s words were so unexpected that Harry loosened his grip on Draco’s hands in his surprise, and Draco promptly took advantage of it, pushing him onto his back, straddling him again and grinding down once, hard. It knocked the breath right out of Harry’s lungs.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his vision going blurry.

“You are a marvel, Harry,” Draco purred, sliding one leg between Harry’s, supporting himself with one arm and letting his other hand trail down Harry’s chest, over his stomach, until it hit the waistband of his pants. Harry’s breath caught again and this time he held it, every nerve in his body on high alert, his entire focus on Draco’s feather light touch trailing the skin right at the edge of the fabric.

“Draco,” he choked out, and he knew that he sounded desperate. He didn’t particularly care, though, not when Draco looked at him as if was about to devour him whole. Then a smirk spread on Draco’s lips, just as one finger dipped ever so slightly below the waistband.

“What is it, love? Want something?” The grin on his face turned devilish now and Harry bit back a groan. Of course there would be immediate payback, this was Draco after all.

“Draco, please,” Harry whined, letting his own hands slide down Draco’s torso, only to have them caught and pushed back, one of them suddenly trapped under the hand Draco supported his weight with. Unfair.

“Please _what,_ Harry?” Draco asked sweetly, obviously revelling in Harry’s desperation.

“Ugh! Please! Just—! _Touch_ me, Draco, _please!”_

“Your wish is my command,” Draco replied with a carnal grin, his hand going back down Harry’s torso, this time not stopping at the waistband but instead ghosting over the outline of his erection.

It was too much and not enough all at once. Harry let out a desperate noise, his free hand reaching down between their bodies as well, grasping Draco’s hard length through his pyjama pants. Draco choked on air as Harry’s fingers tightened and his palm rubbed downwards. All of a sudden, Draco’s fingers flew up to the edge of Harry’s pants again, dipping inside the tiniest bit as silver eyes looked up at Harry, hesitant, questioning.

“Can I…?”

“Fuck, yes, _yes_ ,” Harry replied quickly, dragging his own hand further up as well, trailing the band of Draco’s pyjamas. He raised a questioning eyebrow, as he pushed the pants downwards ever so slightly, though he lost control over his expression when Draco’s fingers closed around him, soft and warm and firm and amazing.

“Draco,” he gasped, trying to focus on getting the confirmation he needed before he completely lost himself. “Can—”

“Yes, gods, yes,” Draco replied, just as breathless.

Harry didn’t hesitate, sneaking his hand inside Draco’s pants and wrapping his fingers around him. It felt odd, holding another man’s cock instead of his own, but it was as amazing as it was strange. 

Draco’s hand began to move and Harry had to remind himself to breathe, to stay aware. Relying fully on his experiences from wanking, he started to move as well and Draco let out a broken moan.

Their eyes met and Harry lost himself in the silver for a moment, overwhelmed by all his senses screaming _Draco_. He felt like he was drowning in him, his eyes, his touch, his scent. It was almost a relief when Draco bent down to kiss him again, simply because he could close his eyes to reduce the sensory overload he was trapped in. Almost. Now he was just drowning in the kiss instead of Draco’s eyes, but he was drowning all the same. 

It did not take long before he felt the tell-tale tense heat of an impending orgasm build in his abdomen, and, judging from how Draco’s hips stuttered, he was equally close. Harry wasn’t really thinking anymore, he moved on instinct, his formerly trapped hand—he wasn’t exactly sure when Draco had let it go—fisting into blond hair as they continued to kiss, the other hand keeping up an increasing pace, imitating the movements he knew he liked himself.

Sharp heat shot through him and suddenly he was on the edge. He broke the kiss with a gasp, throwing his head back, his fingers tightening in Draco’s hair.

“Fuck, Draco, I’ll— I— _oh!”_ He came with a shout, his eyes rolling back into his head. 

Instinctively, he pulled Draco down to him, only vaguely registering that Draco went limp with a loud moan that could’ve been Harry’s name, and hot sticky liquid spilled over Harry’s still moving hand. 

It took Harry several long seconds to sort out his mind enough to untangle his fingers from Draco’s hair and loosen the grip holding him down to his chest. They withdrew their hands from each other’s pants, Draco grimacing at the mess and Harry quickly sending a wandless cleaning charm over both of them. They were both still trying to catch their breath when Draco lifted his head and looked up at him, and Harry thought he’d dissolve right then and there. Draco looked wrecked, thoroughly ravished, and so fucking beautiful it hurt.

“Well,” he said breathlessly, “that was...“

“Bloody brilliant?” 

“An incredible understatement, but I’ll accept it,” said Draco, resting his forehead on Harry’s chest, a smile tugging on his lips. 

Harry laughed softly, running his free hand up and down Draco’s back as he simply continued to stare in wonder at the man in his arms. Even though Harry never even looked away, when Draco lifted his head again Harry’s breath caught anew and he felt an overwhelming wave of emotion rise in him.

Leaning in slowly, he placed the softest of kisses on Draco’s lips, trying to put everything he felt into it even though he knew there was no way he could ever convey that much emotion. Draco hummed happily against his lips, the vibration of it translating immediately to Harry’s insides. Gods, how much of this could he take before he’d just _die_ from an overload of feelings and sensations? An overload of Draco? He wasn’t sure.

Draco stayed where Harry’s kiss had left him with his eyes closed for a moment, looking rather blissful, before promptly getting comfortable right where he was on top of Harry, snuggling into his neck. Harry laughed again and put his arms around him, content to act as both Draco’s mattress and pillow.

“Tired?” he asked softly, nudging the top of Draco’s head with his nose.

“Again, an understatement,” replied Draco, nuzzling closer into him. And Harry had to agree, he was beyond exhausted.

“Let’s sleep then.”

“Mmh.”

He extinguished the lights with another wandless command, then tightened his arms around Draco, wanting to keep him as close as he could, just to enjoy drowning in him a little longer.

“Good night, Draco.”

“Mmhm.”

Silence settled over them and Harry drank it in along with Draco’s warmth on top of him. He could already feel sleep tugging at him when Draco mumbled, “Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Happy birthday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehehe, so here’s the chapter that changed the rating for this fic from Mature to Explicit. It’s my first go at writing smut, so I hope it’s … satisfying?  
> Despite this first step, though, our boys shall continue to take it slow.
> 
> How do you feel about it all?
> 
> Sorry it took a while for this update, I have two more exams and an essay due next week, but at least the presentation I was dreading is through now. I hope to be updating faster again once this is all over.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, as always <3  
> \- Z.


	26. Unbreakable Vow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise at Grimmauld Place, and tension invites disaster.

Harry woke up feeling well-rested for once. In fact, he was nearly sure he’d never slept so well before in his entire life. And not a single nightmare. Draco had stayed wrapped around him during the night and Harry couldn’t help but smile down at the sleeping blond, revelling in the heat that radiated from Draco’s naked chest. He shivered slightly as memories from the previous night came flooding back into his mind.

They had certainly made quite a jump from their previous hesitancy. Oddly enough, it didn’t feel like they had moved too fast, though. No, Harry was more than happy with last night’s events, it was certainly a birthday he’d never forget. The day had been full of successes overall, now that he thought about it again.

Sure, Ron was acting stuck up about Draco, and Hermione would interrogate him into the ground next time he met her; but nobody had hexed anyone, the majority of the Weasleys had accepted Draco as his boyfriend and he’d even caught Narcissa and Mrs— no, _Molly_ , bonding. And while the subject had been mostly avoided after the initial announcement, nobody had shown him open animosity because he was suddenly the son of Severus Snape. The Weasleys still accepted him. Now all that was left to do was to gather his courage and confront Severus.

Admittedly, that idea still terrified him. The thought of opening himself up like that wasn’t something Harry was particularly familiar or comfortable with. He’d never had a family to open up to. Sure, the Weasleys, but there it had always been clear that he was an acquired family member, rather than an integral one. Somehow it just felt _different._ It felt far more dangerous, in a way that triggered Harry’s Slytherin side, rather than his Gryffindor one. It felt dangerous in a way that made him want to hide instead of charge. But Narcissa was right, there was no way around it. If he wanted to build a serious relationship with Severus, even if only behind closed doors, he had to get over himself and talk to him.

As he was trying to convince himself of it, Draco began to stir sleepily, effectively drawing Harry’s attention away from the Severus-issue.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Harry murmured softly, suppressing a laugh when Draco _glared_ at him through half closed eyelids. “Still tired I take it?”

“Mnmhh!”

Draco buried his face in Harry’s shoulder again, clearly not in the mood to wake up yet. For a while Harry indulged him, running his hand through Draco’s hair and gently massaging his scalp as he continued to doze peacefully, but eventually the clock was creeping towards nine and there really was no good excuse to stay in bed any longer.

It took some effort, but he managed to coax Draco out of bed without too much pouting, the suggestion of a shared shower proving incredibly persuasive. However, by the time they’d made it into the bathroom, Narcissa’s chiming charm had already announced breakfast, which meant that there wasn’t even time for Harry to take a proper shower by himself, settling instead for a quick rinse and hopping into a pair of his new Muggle joggers, throwing on a sweatshirt and hurrying downstairs. But Harry was secretly glad, if he was completely honest with himself—the thought of being that exposed in broad daylight was more than just a little intimidating to him.

Severus wasn’t at breakfast. It would have worried Harry if he hadn’t been thoroughly distracted by the arrival of their O.W.L. results. Draco blanched at the sight and Harry felt oddly reminded of Hermione by how serious they both seemed to take their grades. Nevertheless, he had to admit that he himself was nervous, too, as he turned the letter in his fingers for the third time without opening it.

“Go on, Harry, just open it!” encouraged Remus. “I’m sure you did well where it matters.”

Harry glared at him. Right, where it matters. Except he didn’t even have all the subjects that mattered, as it turned out. And that was ignoring the fact that one exam had been interrupted by Aurors chasing Hagrid off the school grounds and attacking McGonagall, another one had consisted entirely of him making things up, and in a third one he’d literally fallen asleep and collapsed with a fake vision from Voldemort. Yeah, his exam results were bound to be _amazing._

Nevertheless, he forced himself to break the seal and pull out the letter, unfolding it with slightly shaking hands.

  


> _ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS_
> 
> _Pass Grades:_
> 
> _Outstanding (O)  
>  _ _Exceeds Expectations (E)  
>  _ _Acceptable (A)_
> 
> _Fail Grades:_
> 
> _Poor (P)  
>  _ _Dreadful (D)  
>  _ _Troll (T)_
> 
> _HARRY JAMES POTTER HAS ACHIEVED_
> 
> _Astronomy:_ _A  
>  __Care of Magical Creatures:_ _E  
>  __Charms:_ _E  
>  __Defence Against the Dark Arts:_ _O  
>  __Divination:_ _P  
>  __Herbology:_ _E_  
>  _History of Magic:_ _D_  
>  _Potions:_ _E  
>  __Transfiguration:_ _E_

Harry stared at the letter, feeling torn. On one side, he was quite happy about his Outstanding in Defence, but thinking back he was sure he could’ve done better in Astronomy, Herbology and Potions. Perhaps even Transfiguration. He had learnt so much in just over a month since coming to Grimmauld Place, it was frustrating to know that he could’ve done so much better if— if what? If the charms had been lifted earlier? If he’d been allowed to live at Grimmauld last year already before everyone else showed up? If he had gotten away from the Dursleys over the summer in previous years? It was pointless to consider what-ifs, but it still bothered him. It bothered him almost as much as the knowledge that he could’ve done Runes and Arithmancy instead of bloody _Divination_.

Meanwhile Draco had handed his letter to Narcissa, watching her anxiously as she unfolded it. A smile spread on her face.

“Well done, Draco!” She held it out to him and he snatched it from her hands with wide eyes.

“So?” asked Harry. “Were you as good as I predicted or even better?”

Draco blushed slightly, shook his head, and said, “No, you were suspiciously accurate, in fact. O for Transfigurations, Potions, Charms, Astronomy, and Arithmancy; E for Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Defence, Herbology, and History of Magic. It’s alright, I guess.”

“‘Alright’ he says,” mocked Harry with an eye-roll. “Those grades are amazing! I _failed_ History of Magic and Divination.”

“You _collapsed_ during the History of Magic exam, and Divination is bullshit,” Draco retorted.

“Language, Draco,” Narcissa admonished, but she was smiling proudly at her son.

Draco apologised quickly, but not without a hint of exasperation in his tone. Harry meanwhile turned his attention back to his letter, the second piece of parchment containing the booklist for their next term. Harry wondered for a minute whether he should just get the books for Arithmancy and Runes and try to self-study. It couldn’t _hurt_ at the very least to have them, right?

His eyes fell to the envelope and he noticed with surprise that there still seemed to be something in it. Curious, he shook it out and a red and gold badge fell into his palm. His jaw dropped.

“Harry?” asked Remus. “What do you have there?”

Too stunned for words, he simply held out his hand to let him see. Draco gasped.

“Quidditch Captain! Harry that’s amazing, congratulations!” He beamed at Harry for a second, before his face suddenly fell and turned into a scowl. “Oh no, that means Slytherin has to train double this year, brilliant.”

Harry laughed. “As if Slytherin ever had a chance, especially with their Seeker dating the Gryffindor captain,” he said with a wink and Draco’s scowl deepened.

“Make no mistake, Potter, when we’re on the pitch this relationship is absolutely irrelevant,” retorted Draco, crossing his arms.

Harry laughed again and leaned over to give Draco a kiss, successfully wiping the scowl off his face.

“So, are you happy with your grades overall?” asked Remus, steering the conversation away from Harry and Draco’s old rivalry tendencies.

“Yeah, I guess,” answered Harry with a shrug. “I know I could’ve done better—could do better now—and that’s frustrating, but it’s alright.”

As Remus went on to reassure him that he had done what he could under the circumstances back then, Harry slowly began to feel more relaxed. Eventually, he and Draco went back upstairs to read and for Harry to spend some time with his new snake.

Sirona seemed to be settling in nicely and after another conversation with her, Harry had to admit that she really did not seem to need a terrarium, but was happy just slithering around the house freely and sleeping in her basket or in front of the hearth. Hedwig fortunately seemed entirely unbothered by the tiny snake and hadn’t attempted to attack her. Harry hoped it stayed that way and took care to give his owl plenty of attention to keep her content.

Severus had given Harry a book with information about all sorts of snakes, including prism vipers. As he’d already told Harry when he’d given him Sirona, prism viper scales were apparently used in several healing potions. What he _hadn’t_ told him before was the reason these snakes had such potent healing abilities; prism vipers were so lethal that they were constantly healing themselves from their own venom. But Harry wasn’t worried about Sirona accidentally killing him, or anyone else. In fact, she’d taken a liking to him quite quickly, and spent most of her time coiled around Harry’s arm or neck. He had been delighted to read that, much like Occamies, adult prism vipers had the ability to shrink and grow to fit the available space, meaning that he’d be able to carry her around like that even once she grew older.

By lunchtime, Harry had introduced Draco to her, whom she deemed worthy to hold her after Harry translated that Draco found her pretty. If Draco were a Parselmouth, those two would probably get on like a house on fire.

Severus didn’t come to lunch either, which was odd enough that Harry asked Remus about it.

“I’m afraid I don’t know where he is,” said Remus sadly, concern clear in his face. “He suddenly left the party yesterday and went to his room, I haven’t seen him since.”

Harry frowned. Then he thought about it further and grudgingly admitted, “He probably just had enough of so many Weasleys.”

Remus smiled at him as he said, “Probably, yes,” but it looked forced.

The day flew by quickly, with Harry returning to his duelling practice and apparition training. Draco didn’t join them this time, spending his afternoon in the now refurbished library instead, researching Merlin knew what. All Harry had gotten as a response when he’d asked was that it had to do with potions and Harry should go focus on being the Chosen One. He’d recognised the mocking as a means to get him to stop asking questions, so he’d left Draco to it. Chances were that he’d learn soon enough what it was all about; Draco just wanted things to be prepared before sharing them sometimes.

When Severus was again absent during dinner, Harry was sure that something must be wrong. Upon his asking, Narcissa told him that the house-elves had delivered meals to Severus’ room, so Harry decided to just go knock on the man’s door after dinner. Simple.

It didn’t feel so simple anymore an hour later when he ascended the stairs to the fourth floor, his stomach fluttering with nerves. He hesitated in front of the door, unsure whether this had really been such a great idea. But nothing to be done, there wasn’t really any other option, was there? Remus had told him that he’d been ignored the previous day and this morning, and encouraged Harry to try instead.

Taking a deep breath, he lifted his hand and knocked. “Severus?”

There was no response.

Harry waited solid thirty seconds before knocking again, repeating, “Severus? Are you alright?”

Again, nothing.

He knocked a third time before pulling out his wand and sending a soft spell against the wards, just enough so whoever was inside would feel it. Finally, there was movement inside and two seconds later, the door was ripped open to reveal a scowling Severus. At the very least, he did seem to be alright and had not been called away by Voldemort.

“How dare you try to forcefully breach my privacy?” snapped Severus, looking angry.

“If you had deigned to answer the first two times I knocked, I wouldn’t have had to get your attention like that,” Harry retorted. “Why didn’t you come down for dinner? Or lunch or breakfast?”

“I don’t owe you any explanations,” Severus said coldly. “Now if you would kindly leave, I did not ask for your company.”

That stung and Harry frowned. He’d thought this kind of thing was behind them.

“What about the Occlumency lesson?”

Severus hesitated, his features slipping for only a moment before his blank mask settled back into place. “You are advanced enough now that you don’t need daily lessons anymore. In the library at eight, tomorrow.”

He shut the door in Harry’s face, leaving him stunned—and hurting.

It was a strange, diffuse sort of pain, paired with the feeling of his stomach dropping down to his feet. His heart was hammering in his chest, and for a moment he wasn’t sure what to do. Then he turned abruptly and fled back downstairs to his room, where Draco was lounging on the couch with a book. He looked up when Harry stormed in, his expression changing from one of concentration to concern in the blink of an eye.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Harry bit out, stomping over to his desk and opening a book.

“Looks like a whole lot of nothing,” Draco drawled as he got off the couch and sidled over to Harry, wrapping his arms around Harry’s chest from behind his chair. Harry sighed as he reflexively leaned into the touch. His insides still felt wrong, unstable, and his chest hurt.

“Talk to me, please,” Draco murmured against his ear, and Harry felt his walls crumble. He turned around with a sigh and allowed Draco to pull him up and over to the couch. Draco arranged them to be sitting in front of each other, close enough that their knees were touching, before saying, “So, tell me what happened.”

Harry fidgeted with the cord of his hood, his eyes fixed on their legs. It took him a few seconds until he finally took a resigned breath and began to speak.

“I knocked on Severus’ door. He didn’t answer at first, and when he finally did, well—” He broke off. Draco took his hand and ran his thumb soothingly over Harry’s knuckles. “Let’s just say he wasn’t pleased by my presence.”

“How so?”

“He told me he didn’t ask for my company and I should leave. When I asked him about our Occlumency lesson he answered that tomorrow would suffice and I should meet him in the library for it. Then he slammed the door in my face.”

Draco frowned and squeezed Harry’s hand. “Maybe he’s just in a bad mood? Not that that’s a valid reason to treat you like that,” he added hastily, “but it might not actually be because of you.”

Harry considered that, then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Although he is definitely in a bad mood, it more felt like he was in a bad mood _because of me_. It felt like—” He hesitated, swallowed heavily, looked up at Draco with anxious eyes. “It felt like before I changed. He looked at me like he used to when he hated me. He sounded like he’s gone right back to hating me.”

He felt tears prick his eyes and quickly tried to blink them away. Draco let go of his hand to pull him into a hug instead and he went willingly, burying his face in Draco’s neck.

“He doesn’t hate you, I know he doesn’t,” said Draco. “Every time I talked to him and you came up in the conversation he only had good things to say. He sounded like he wanted to be closer to you, actually.”

“Well not anymore apparently,” replied Harry, pulling back a little. “I— I thought so, too, you know? I thought we were getting somewhere, and I wanted to talk to him about it today. About— About being a family. But I was wrong.” He scoffed bitterly. “Of course I was wrong. It was naïve of me to believe we could actually get over years of hatred for each other. The only reason he was so civil until now was because he felt like he had to. Yesterday he saw that the Weasleys won’t abandon me, which means he can leave me with them without feeling guilty. Gods, I am such an idiot for ever believing he could want me.”

A wave of resentment rose in his throat like bile. How could he have been so stupid? Had he actually hoped that Severus Snape might love him as his son? Perhaps Snape was right and he really was uselessly stupid.

Draco put his hands around Harry’s face and forced him to look at him, silver eyes burning with determination. “You are not an idiot. Understand? And I can’t believe that Severus doesn’t care about you at all, I _heard_ how he talked about you. He really wanted to make this work between you, I truly think he did.”

“Then why is he suddenly shutting me out the _second_ after he sees that the Weasleys won’t shun me? Why?”

“I don’t know, Harry, but I’m sure there’s an explanation for this. Just try talking to him again tomorrow, after your lesson.”

“Our lesson _in the library_. We haven’t had those lessons downstairs in weeks, another thing he reversed back to how it was before.”

Draco frowned at him, but didn’t seem to have a counter-argument for that. Harry sighed.

“Fine, I’ll try to talk to him tomorrow,” he conceded, despite everything inside him screaming that he shouldn’t. “Let’s just talk about something else now, please.”

“Alright then,” agreed Draco, still looking a little unhappy but willing to drop the subject.

They began to discuss Quidditch tactics, until Draco suddenly exclaimed that he shouldn’t be revealing all of Slytherins play strategies, making Harry laugh for the first time since dinner. Since Draco refused to continue their conversation after that, they both took to reading instead.

_“You smell upset, master.”_ The quiet hiss from behind him made Harry turn around to see Sirona slithering towards him. He held out his arm for her to coil around his wrist.

_“I’m sorry, you don’t have to worry about me,”_ he replied, feeling only the slightest bit weird to reassure a snake of his well-being. “ _And you really don’t have to call me that. I told you, my name is Harry.”_

_“What has upset you?”_ Sirona asked, ignoring his correction as she wound up Harry’s arm and eventually came to hold her head in front of his face, looking at him expectantly with glittering prismatic eyes.

_“It’s complicated.”_

_“Does that mean I can not understand?”_

_“I don’t know, you might. But it’s hard for me to explain.”_

_“You do not want to explain.”_

Harry paused. For a snake, she was remarkably astute.

_“Not really, no. It has nothing to do with you, though. I just don’t want to think about it.”_

_“What do you want to think about then?”_

Harry paused at that. He had never thought about it like that. Usually, he’d just settled for distracting himself with whatever was available, rather than actively looking for something he wanted to focus on.

_“I’m not sure,”_ he replied hesitantly. “ _Something positive, I guess. What do you think about to feel good?”_

_“I think about eggs and warmth and trees,”_ said Sirona.

Harry chuckled. He shouldn’t have expected a baby snake to give too elaborate of an answer to that question. Nevertheless, her answer reminded him that feeling good could come from simple things. Things like— He looked up at Draco to find the Slytherin staring at him, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“Draco?”

“Hm? What?” Draco blinked and shook himself, looking slightly startled.

“Are you alright?” asked Harry, furrowing his brows.

“Yes, yes, I just— I was distracted,” Draco answered, blushing slightly.

Harry smirked. “Oh yeah? What were you thinking about that distracted you so much?”

Draco blushed further and shook his head, causing Harry to chuckle again.

_“You smell less upset now,”_ Sirona commented, distracting Harry for a moment.

_“I figured out what I want to think about,”_ he responded, looking back at Draco.

Sirona followed his gaze and hissed appreciatively. “ _Your mate will make you feel better,”_ she said, and promptly slid down Harry’s arm and towards her basket.

Harry laughed. For the fact that she was supposed to be a baby, she understood quite a lot about relationships. Perhaps snakes simply learned faster in that regard. He turned back to Draco, who was watching him curiously.

“What did she say?” asked Draco, as Harry shifted closer to him.

“She said I smell less upset after looking at you, and that you’ll make me feel better,” Harry replied with a broad grin.

“Oh,” Draco breathed, eyes wide as Harry moved to straddle him.

“So,” Harry murmured, dipping his head to run his lips along Draco’s neck, “what were you so distracted by before?”

Draco inhaled sharply when Harry nipped at his ear, and his voice was a little wobbly when he replied, “You. Speaking Parseltongue.”

Harry pulled back and gave him a surprised look. “What?”

Draco blushed furiously, but held Harry’s gaze with a hint of stubborn defiance in his eyes. “It’s hot enough that she’s on you most of the time—and she’s beautiful, too—but hearing you actually talk to her? You have _no idea_ how sexy it is to see you talk to a snake.”

Harry gave a disbelieving laugh, but smothered it quickly in the face of Draco glaring at him.

“Well, if you say so,” he conceded, and leaned in to kiss him.

Draco met him halfway and they quickly got lost in each other, hands wandering freely, exploring the not-taboo-anymore parts of each other’s bodies. It didn’t take long for both of them to moan their release, and Harry had to wholeheartedly agree with Sirona. Draco had indeed made him feel better.

They went to bed happy and sated, and Harry was resolved to try to talk to Severus again the next day. But Severus was once again absent during all their meals, and Harry’s will to go through with his plan was waning quickly. Nevertheless, he forced himself to be calm as he went to the library shortly before eight o’clock, and when their lesson ended he spoke up.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” It came out rushed and Harry’s heart was going wild in his chest again. Severus was already on his feet, facing the door.

“About Occlumency?” Severus asked without turning around.

“What? No, I wanted to talk ab—”

“Then no.”

And he was gone in a heartbeat. For a moment Harry just stared at the door he’d left open behind him, trying to comprehend the situation. Then the same diffuse pain as the day before came rushing back into him, only ten times worse. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

He fled to the hidden library, one of the only rooms he still hadn’t shown Draco. Only when his bracelet kept pulsing against his wrist, signalling him that Draco was looking for him, did he leave again to go back to his room. They didn’t talk that night, and though Draco initially tried asking him what had happened, he quickly figured that Harry was not up for a retelling.

Harry didn’t try to speak to Severus again. The man stayed in his room, except for Occlumency lessons every other day, during which they barely talked. Harry’s shields were excellent by now, and coupled with the newly increased motivation of not letting Severus see how he felt, they sufficed to keep him out practically every time.

A week after Harry’s birthday, Remus declared that Harry had mastered apparition. It should’ve made him happy, but in his downtrodden mood he barely managed a smile. Draco was doing his best to cheer him up, but despite his repeated success, it never took long for Harry to slip back into his sullenness.

The only exception was the day on which Draco presented Harry with a salve, explaining with a broad grin that it would get rid of Harry’s scars.

“What?”

“I promised I’d find something to heal them, right? Well, I did, and I brewed it. It shouldn’t even take long, only two or three days of applying it.”

Harry gaped at him. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious,” Draco replied, smiling broadly. “I found it in—”

He broke off when Harry jumped up and gave him a bone-crushing hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered, fighting to hold back tears of gratitude.

“Anything for you, love,” Draco replied, and Harry felt him smile. “Do you need help with applying it?”

Harry nodded and moved away to strip off his shirt. Draco kept talking about the salve as he applied it—how it worked, where he’d found it, how long it took to brew—and Harry was grateful for it. He would’ve been much more uncomfortable if they’d sat in silence. Draco then moved to the burn-scars on his arms, but when he reached for the two large scars on Harry’s right forearm, Harry stopped him.

“What is it?”

“You said the salve is only for non-magical scars. It won’t work on these, don’t waste it,” explained Harry.

Draco frowned. “Where did you get those then?”

“This one is from the Basilisk in second year,” said Harry, pointing at the higher one. “And this one is from when Wormtail cut me to take my blood for the potion that revived Voldemort.”

Draco inhaled sharply, and Harry quickly took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s fine, Draco, I’m fine. It’s all healed, they’re just scars now. They don’t even bother me, it’s alright.”

For a moment, Draco visibly struggled with himself, then he gave a resigned sigh and nodded. “Alright, fine. Let me at least do the ones around them, then.”

Harry smiled and nodded and let Draco treat the rest of his scars he’d gotten from trying to reach the stove when he was still way too small to cook.

His good mood kept for once, and they spent the rest of the afternoon practising spells in the garden. Only when it was time for dinner and Severus was once again absent did Harry’s cheerfulness fade. He ate in silence, not feeling up to making conversation. Just when he was about to get up from the table and retreat to their room again, Narcissa held him back.

“Harry, would you spare me a moment? I want to discuss the last room to be renovated with you.”

“Uh, sure,” he responded, swallowing a frustrated groan.

She led him up to the second floor and into an incredibly messy room with torn, dark-blue wallpapers hanging limply from the walls. He was absolutely not in the mood to discuss decor, but he could hardly refuse her after all the work she’d put into the house.

To his surprise, she flicked her wand and cleared a pile of books and cloth off a dusty couch, before gesturing for him to sit down. Then she closed and locked the door and put up a strong silencing charm. When she finally sat down and turned to look at him, her face was full of concern and so much affection Harry suddenly felt a lump form in his throat.

“Harry,” she began gently, putting a hand over his, “I imagine you’d rather not talk about it but I have to ask what happened between you and Severus. I can see how unhappy you are and I want to help you, but I don’t know how. Please, tell me what’s going on.”

He hesitated for only a moment before sagging into himself and nodding.

“Fine, fine.” He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and then went on to tell Narcissa everything Severus had said. Not that it had been a lot in the first place.

“It’s exactly what I was afraid of,” he spat bitterly. “He saw me with the Weasleys and concluded that I already have a family and therefore he doesn’t have to stick around.”

Narcissa looked at him thoughtfully. “I can barely believe that, but I have to admit that he is acting very unusual and it doesn’t match his previous behaviour at all. Have you tried to talk to him again since?”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “He doesn’t want me, Narcissa. What would even be the point?”

She gave him a scrutinising look then, grey-blue eyes boring into him.

“Do you love him?”

Harry flinched. He had successfully avoided to think about how he felt so far, and he grimaced at her for putting him on the spot like that. She didn’t relent.

“Yes,” he finally bit out reluctantly.

“Then you have to try again, you have to tell him,” she urged, but Harry pulled back his hand at once.

“No, no way. Why would I tell him that, just so he can reject me a third time? I _tried_ to talk to him, he doesn’t want to speak to me!”

“Then I will—”

“No! No, Narcissa, don’t. I— Tt’s bad enough as it is. It doesn’t have to be embarrassing on top of everything. Please just— No.”

She frowned at him, but the plea in his face must have convinced her, because she eventually nodded with a sigh. “If you say so, Harry. But I truly believe that he feels the same way as you, he’s just—”

“Well then it’s his bloody job now to approach me!” Harry shouted, suddenly angry. “I tried! I tried and he shut me down twice. Just— Just don’t tell him anything.” He stood, feeling restless. “I gotta go, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for, Harry. Just know that I’m here for you if you need me.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

And with that he strode over to the door, breaking the locking charm without even thinking about it, and left. He kept to himself for the rest of the evening, and Draco let him, once more displaying his uncanny ability to know exactly when Harry needed comfort and when he actually wanted to be left alone.

The next day was much the same as the ones before, with Harry training with Remus and Draco in the morning, then spending his time learning runes and arithmancy in the afternoon with Draco helping him whenever he got stuck. It rarely happened with runes, but he found arithmancy to be rather tricky. Fortunately, it was Draco’s strength. Nevertheless, after a rather complicated explanation of how spell qualities could be arithmantically combined in stacks, Harry’s brain felt like someone had put it through a meat grinder.

“Perhaps Hermione could explain it better,” said Draco, gnawing on his bottom lip.

Harry still had to smile a little whenever Draco used Hermione’s first name so naturally. How quickly things could change.

“No, no, you explained it wonderfully, I just have to process it properly. I’ll go downstairs real quick, I need a snack,” he declared as he got out of his chair. “Do you want anything from the kitchen?”

“Why don’t you just summon Kreacher?” asked Draco.

“No, I wanna move a bit after all that, four flights of stairs are better than nothing.”

“In that case, chocolate please.”

Harry smiled tiredly and gave Draco a quick kiss before leaving their room and making his way down. As he went down the last set of stairs to the basement, he suddenly heard voices. Arguing voices. He slowly crept towards the kitchen, careful to stay out of sight as he listened.

“I am just trying to understand, Severus. Why would you suddenly refuse to talk to him? He’s your son!” Narcissa argued.

Harry’s breath caught and he moved closer until he could peer inside to see her standing in front of the table, hands on her hips, looking quite irritated. He couldn’t see Severus.

“I am a marked Death Eater, I’m the reason Voldemort is hunting him! Harry doesn’t _want_ to be my son,” Severus snarled. “Not when he has Remus and Molly who love him like he’s their own blood.”

Narcissa threw up her arms with an expression of pure exasperation on her face.

“Of course he does!” she shouted. “You are his _father_ , Severus, his family—a thing he wished for and has been deprived of his entire life. He wants nothing more than for you to love him as your son, he just never got a chance to say so, because you’d rather shut yourself away from the world than allow anyone to see you vulnerable. He _loves_ you, but he would never dare telling you now because he’s afraid you’ll reject him again—and understandably so after how unpleasantly you’ve behaved!”

Harry’s insides went cold, and he suddenly felt very exposed. He’d confided in Narcissa, he’d trusted her to keep his secrets, and now she’d just gone and told Severus, the one person he didn’t want to know.

He was dreading Severus’ response, and yet he wished the man would speak up already.

The response never came. Instead, Harry heard a loud thunk and a gasp, followed by Severus’ panicked calls, “Narcissa? Narcissa!”

Alarmed, Harry jumped around the corner he’d been hiding behind and took in the scene before him. Narcissa lay on the floor, gasping for air and obviously in tremendous pain, with Severus kneeling beside her, checking her over frantically. His heart clenched. Not her too. He couldn’t lose any more people.

“What happened?” he demanded as he closed the distance to them in two big strides and sunk to his knees on Narcissa’s other side.

“I don’t know, she just collapsed!” Severus had lost his usual composure, looking shocked and lost. Harry grabbed Narcissa’s hand and tried to catch her eye.

“Narcissa, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you do.” He was relieved to feel her grip tighten. She was responsive, that was a start. He cast a wandless diagnostic charm, but it came up clean. How could it come up clean?! His mind started to race through his growing repertoire of healing spells, but he needed to know what was happening to be able to help. He wished he had the journal and syringe from Draco with him.

“Do you know what’s wrong? Can you show me how to help you?” She turned to look at him now, letting go of his hand to reach up and touch his face instead.

“I— I’m sorry,” she managed between gulping breaths. Harry frowned, taking her hand between both of his again.

“What? Why are you apologising? Narcissa please, let me help you!”

“Be— Betrayed you,” she forced out, her face distorted with pain, sadness and guilt. “Told— Se— Severus.”

“What? Narcissa, you’re _dying,_ do you really think I care about that right now? _Please,_ tell me what’s happe—”

“Of course!” Severus hissed suddenly.

He drew his wand so quickly Harry barely saw the movement, then grasped Narcissa’s arm tightly and began to murmur an incantation. Golden threads binding their forearms together shimmered into existence and Severus began to trace them, still continuing the murmured chant. One by one, the threads dissolved as Severus’ wand trailed along them.

Narcissa’s breathing grew deeper, her gasps sounding less like she was suffocating but rather like she had emerged from an excessively long dive underwater. Harry ripped his gaze from the disappearing threads, watching Narcissa’s face instead. The pain seemed to be abating, although she still looked unbelievably sad.

As soon as the last of the threads was gone, Severus let go of Narcissa’s arm, waving his wand one final time as he finished with another incantation. Narcissa was still panting, but she seemed to be able to breathe normally again.

“What the hell was that?” Harry demanded, glaring at Severus.

“That,” said Severus, “is what happens if you break an Unbreakable Vow.”

Harry blinked in surprise. He knew that Dumbledore had insisted that Narcissa swear an Unbreakable Vow before allowing her to enter Grimmauld Place, but he’d never asked about the specifics of it. How the hell could Narcissa have broken her vow while standing in his kitchen?

“I’m so sorry, Harry.”

His attention snapped back to her. She had tears in her eyes and looked incredibly guilty. He shook his head, he didn’t want to hear any apologies, he just wanted her to breathe and continue breathing. She managed to sit up and he immediately pulled her into a hug, which she returned with a surprising amount of strength. She was crying.

Harry didn’t know what to do. He looked over at Severus who was watching them with an expression Harry had never seen on him before.

“Explain,” he ordered sharply, holding on tightly to a shaking Narcissa. Severus’ face twisted with guilt, which confused Harry even further.

“The Unbreakable Vow that Narcissa swore before I brought her here included the vow that she’ll never betray anyone in this house. When she told me that you— When she said what she said, she betrayed you. You clearly did not want me to know and trusted her to keep it to herself—when she broke that trust, she broke the vow.”

Narcissa let out a sob in Harry’s arms and he tightened his grip. Severus buried his face in his hands.

“This is my fault,” he said softly, sounding far more fragile than Harry had ever heard him. Harry frowned again, confused.

“I don’t follow,” he said in a much milder tone than before. “Why would it be your fault? If anything it would be my fault. I shouldn’t have asked her to keep secrets.”

Severus lifted his head and looked at him sadly.

“No, Harry, you don’t understand. Even if you hadn’t explicitly asked her to keep it to herself, she’d have broken the vow because _you did not want me to know_ , and she told me. Anything that would’ve resulted in you feeling betrayed would’ve broken the vow. It is my fault because—” Severus took a breath, avoiding to look into Harry’s eyes. “—because if I hadn’t made you feel the way I did you wouldn’t have been so scared of me knowing; you wouldn’t have felt betrayed by her telling me, and the vow would’ve remained intact.”

He finally met Harry’s eyes again.

“I’m sorry I shut you out, Harry. I didn’t think you’d want me to—well, to be your father. I didn’t think you’d want me to involve myself in your life. But I do, I really do, and that terrifies me, because I frankly have very little experience with showing affection. You have torn my walls wide open and left me vulnerable.” He faltered, dropping his eyes. “After hearing you talk to Molly on your birthday I was convinced you were only humouring me, that you didn’t actually need or want me because you already found another family. So I ran away and shut you out, trying to protect myself. I’ve acted like a child and I’ve not only hurt you but also put Narcissa’s life in danger in the process. I am so, so sorry. I am proud to call you my son, and I would love nothing more than for you to see me as your father.”

Harry didn’t know what to do. He was still holding Narcissa, while at the same time fighting back tears and the impulse to throw himself into Severus’ arms. When Severus moved over to them and hesitantly put his arm around Harry’s shoulders he practically melted into the embrace and tears shot into his eyes, immediately spilling over his cheeks.

They stayed like that for long moment, before Narcissa slowly extracted herself out of Harry’s arms, causing Severus to move away again. She looked at Harry, her eyes red from crying, and gave him a sad smile.

“I am really—”

“Don’t even say it,” Harry interrupted her. “This is not your fault. You wanted the best for me, I was just too scared to bloody well tell him myself.”

“Can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he insisted.

“Yes, there is. I betrayed you, otherwise the vow wouldn’t have been broken. Whether I acted out of good intentions or not, I still broke your trust, and for that I am truly sorry. Please, Harry, can you forgive me?”

“Of course I forgive you,” he said. Relief flashed on her face and she smiled again, more genuinely this time.

“You are a marvellous young man, Harry,” she said, as she slowly got to her feet, swaying slightly. Both Harry and Severus quickly jumped up to steady her, leading her to a chair and forcing her to sit down. She smirked at them.

“Well, at least now that all secrets are out, I can say this: like father, like son—you really are two of a kind.”

Harry was about to protest, when Severus’ arm came to rest around his shoulders again, pulling him into a proper hug this time.

“Yes, we are,” Severus drawled, his voice full of affection.

Harry couldn’t remember to ever have been happier than he was now, standing in his kitchen with his tear-streaked face buried in Severus’ shoulder.

_I have a father._

The thought kept echoing through his head. After what felt like hours, he pulled away to wipe his face. Cautiously, he glanced over at Severus and found him looking back at him, giving him an uncharacteristically shy smile. The weight that had settled on his chest since the day after his birthday finally lifted, and Harry felt a wide grin spread on his face.

“So, does that mean I can call you Dad now?” he asked cheekily.

Narcissa laughed, but Severus’ eyes widened and for a second Harry regretted his words.

Then Severus face softened and he nodded. “Yes, you can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, that one took a while to write! Mostly because I had the second part with the vow written much much earlier than the rest of the chapter. It was originally just a random idea I had for a scene and I thought I wouldn’t actually include it in the fic. But after writing it I kinda liked it, so I worked to set it up and eventually arrived at this chapter where I could finally include it.  
> The result is a rather packed chapter, but I do hope it satisfied your angst and hurt/comfort needs for a little while.  
> I really liked the idea of Narcissa eventually being free of the vow and instead actually having Harry’s trust because of their relationship.
> 
> The O.W.L. results are taken verbatim from HBP and not mine in any way.  
> Also, if Ao3 fucks up the formatting I will cry. By the time you read this I may have cried. (I cried, look how much prettier they would be if Ao3 let me!)  
> 
> 
> Thanks to [PotionDaddy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionDaddy) for beta reading!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed that chapter and as always thanks for reading!  
> \- Z.
> 
> ...also, are these notes annoying? I can't tell; I love reading the author's thoughts, but so many fics have no notes at all and idk... -insecurities-


	27. Parental Responsibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus faces his first hurdle as Harry’s guardian.

Remus sighed heavily as he finished reading Kingsley’s report. Another disappearance, more inexplicable accidents all over the country. You-Know-Who was finally on the move, and he didn’t seem to be pulling punches. The weather had changed dramatically, replacing the summer heat with a constant fog hanging over large parts of England. Remus knew what it meant. The Dementors were breeding. When they’d been under Ministry control, their numbers had been controlled, now that they had changed their allegiance to follow You-Know-Who Remus feared there’d soon be hordes of them. They were difficult to kill. Hell, they were difficult to just _repel_ already, but truly obliterating Dementors was a task usually left to specialised Hit-Wizards. It didn’t bode well for the light side of this war.

Running a hand over his face he leaned back in his chair and mentally went over the past week. Three Order meetings, all prompted by Death Eater attacks on public places. Moody was planning raids, Kingsley was trying to gather more support in the Ministry but was met with resistance at every turn. And apparently Rufus Scrimgeour, Fudge’s successor and the new Minister of Magic, was looking for Harry. Remus thanked the gods that they had Grimmauld Place under a Fidelius charm, Harry didn’t need any more nonsense to deal with. Especially since Severus had suddenly decided to retreat back into his shell completely.

Anger shot through him at the thought of Severus. What the hell was wrong with the man? One moment they had been getting along wonderfully, talking every evening, even sharing a glass of wine sometimes, and then, without any warning, Severus refused to talk to him at all. Or to Harry. Remus wasn’t sure what made him angrier. Probably that Harry was getting hurt—the boy didn’t deserve to be treated like that. Remus had initially tried to ask Harry about what Severus had said to him, but Harry had evaded the topic repeatedly, and eventually Draco had taken Remus aside and given him a summary of what had happened. How Severus had openly rejected Harry, shut him down and out and left him behind. It got Remus’ blood boiling. After all that talk of how he wanted to make Harry’s relatives pay, Severus was now treating Harry with the same condescension, abandoning him.

Still, in the beginning Remus had hoped that maybe there was a good reason for it. Perhaps You-Know-Who was actively trying to use the connection to Harry, and Severus had to keep his distance for safety’s sake. But then Severus had ignored him during the first Order meeting, avoiding his eyes the entire time and disappearing into his room again immediately afterwards. It was infuriating. Worst of all, there was nothing Remus could do to change it. Nothing he could do to comfort Harry, because despite all his love for the boy, he wasn’t his actual father. Severus was.

Which also meant that it should be Severus getting ready for the conversation Remus had been avoiding for two days, not him. Remus buried his face in his hands with a groan. He’d suspected that he’d have to give Harry _the talk_ ever since he’d learnt about him and Draco, but for a good while he had been able to tell himself that they were obviously taking it slow and that he had plenty of time. For some inexplicable reason though, things had changed after Harry’s birthday. Drastically.

The first thing Remus noticed were the dramatically increased amount of casual touches between the boys. While they’d certainly been attached before, there had never been quite this much open affection, especially with people around. Now they barely kept their hands off each other, going so far as Harry apparating behind Draco to disarm him manually and then promptly sweeping him into an embrace and kissing him during a duel. Remus then also noticed that Draco had suddenly started to use mostly physical distractions to cheer Harry up whenever he seemed down—which was a rather frequent occurrence due to Severus’ behaviour. While that in itself wouldn’t have been concerning, the nature of those distractions went quite a bit beyond an embrace and a peck on the cheek. No, Draco was using the same method to cheer Harry up as Sirius had always used to cheer Remus up around the full moon. And Remus knew where that method led.

It had been clear to him then that he’d have to have _the talk_ with Harry much sooner than anticipated. The thought alone made him squirm. While he wasn’t a shy person when it came to sex, he also wasn’t a particularly _articulate_ person when it came to sex. He had always favoured non-verbal communication for such things, unless there were explicit boundaries to be discussed with a partner. But most of these conversations had been with Sirius, the man he had made almost all his experience with, the man he had spent half his life sleeping with or fantasising about. A man he knew on that level, on a sexual level. Of course he could talk about sex with people he actually had sex with, but with _Harry?_

Another shiver of apprehension went through him. He shook himself to snap out of it. There was no other choice. Not that he hadn’t tried to get out of it. As soon as he’d realised that this would have to happen soon, he’d practically panicked—and promptly turned to Narcissa for help. She was a mother, she’d know how to approach the subject best in a parental way. Remus cringed as he remembered the conversation.

  


_“Yes?” came Narcissa’s voice from inside her room._

_Remus pushed the door open and stepped inside. He’d never been inside Narcissa’s room before, and for a moment he paused, taking it in. The room was decorated completely in pale light blue, matching Narcissa so well that it almost seemed like she’d chosen it herself. Perhaps she had, she’d redecorated the entire rest of the house, too, after all._

_“Remus, what can I do for you?” She gave him a warm smile as she put the newspaper she’d been reading on the coffee table in front of her recliner and he automatically smiled back._

_“I wanted to ask you for some parental help,” he said, slightly abashed._

_Narcissa chuckled and gestured for him to sit. He settled on the chair in front of the wooden desk and opened his mouth to speak, but found that he didn’t exactly know where to start. She smiled again, her eyes shining with amusement._

_“So,” she began casually, “what is it you need help with? I was under the impression that you were doing rather well for a new parent, especially given how…extraordinary of a child Harry is.”_

_Remus laughed. Yes, extraordinary was certainly one word to describe Harry with._

_“It’s about him and Draco, actually. I’ve been noticing that they’ve become much…closer recently,” explained Remus._

_Narcissa tilted her head. “Why, yes. Their relationship is growing, it would be concerning if they didn’t get to know each other better in the process.”_

_“I don’t mean closer in that way,” Remus said quickly. “I mean…physically. I know Harry has never been in a serious relationship before, so I doubt he has ever— you know. And at first it looked like him and Draco were taking it slow, but since Harry’s birthday I’m not so sure anymore. The thing is, I don’t think anyone has ever talked to Harry about…all that.”_

_“You mean nobody ever educated Harry about sex,” Narcissa deadpanned. Remus blushed a little, but nodded quickly._

_“Yes, particularly how to be safe in a homosexual relationship. I’ve been trying to figure out how to talk to him for days, but I don’t know how. I usually only talk about sex with people I also actually have sex with. That’s why I wanted to ask—”_

_“You wanted to ask if_ I _could give Harry the talk instead,” she finished for him. In the face of her raised eyebrows and piercing eyes, Remus shrank back a little._

_“It’s for Draco’s benefit too, after all. And if you give the talk to Draco, you might as well give it to both, right?” he pleaded._

_“I educated Draco about heterosexual sex years ago, and I imagine despite all his other faults, Lucius might have dropped a hint or two about gay sex over the years as well, although he insisted continuously that Draco never learn that his father is homosexual. So, as a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ll have another talk with Draco. Besides, I am not a gay man. You and Severus are the ones who have experience with sex between two men. If you want the boys to know about gay sex, that is your job or Severus’ job.”_

_Remus’ jaw dropped. Severus had_ what?!

_“Excuse me?” Remus choked out. “Severus— Severus is attracted to men?”_

_Narcissa laughed. “Why, I shall hope he is. Otherwise I’d have to have a conversation with him about why he slept with my husband for the first year of our marriage. Not that I minded, I knew what I agreed to when I married Lucius, but it’d be a shame if Severus truly enjoyed none of that.”_

_Remus stared at her, speechless. But he— And he had seen—_ Oh gods. _He felt himself blush furiously and quickly tried to think of something else. Right, he’d come here because of Harry. Because Harry was attracted to men, just like his father who had seen Remus naked in the bathtub._

_“I thought you knew,” said Narcissa, giving him a devious smirk. “He seems to have a bit of a crush on you after all.”_

_Remus spluttered, choking on air. “What?!”_

_“You didn’t notice?” Narcissa asked innocently._

_“No! No I did not because that is an absurd idea,” he replied vehemently._

_Narcissa just shrugged and smiled. “Whatever you say, Remus. In any case, I’m not giving Harry the talk for you.”_

  


He frowned at the memory. At the time he had been too shocked to point out that Severus wasn’t even talking to him anymore, and he most definitely did not have a _crush_ on him. Still, Narcissa’s words had played over and over in his head for hours afterwards, just as they did again now. Severus was attracted to men. It certainly explained his reaction to walking in on Remus in the bath. It explained that faint scent of arousal Remus had smelled on him. And it woke the imaginative parts of Remus’ mind and they were going _rampant_ with that knowledge, despite Remus’ efforts to shut those thoughts down. Severus could be as gay as it got, it made no difference if the man was behaving the way he currently was.

Again, anger bubbled up in Remus. What the hell had changed? Why the fuck had he retreated from them so suddenly? It made no _sense_.

With an annoyed noise, Remus began to pace his room. Severus and his abrupt change in attitude was a problem for after he’d gotten to talk to Harry. Remus had already waited too long with it, and this morning had proven that. While he’d suspected that they were well underway to having sex, he hadn’t realised just how fast they were progressing until he’d passed Harry’s room this morning. He was both glad that they hadn’t and wished that they had put up silencing charms. No, he couldn’t stall any longer, he had to talk to Harry today. Now.

Determined, he straightened up and turned to leave, when there was a knock on the door. Two knocks, quick and firm but not loud. It stopped Remus dead in his tracks. He knew exactly how each person in this house knocked. Harry knocked twice, but slower and louder. Narcissa always knocked three times, almost softly. Draco also knocked three times, but far more firmly. And Severus— Severus knocked twice, quick and firm but not loud.

For a moment, Remus was frozen, then his anger returned. In two strides he was at the door, ripping it open to reveal a wary looking Severus. The sight of so much caution in his face took Remus aback and he was able to rein in his anger a little.

“May I come in?” asked Severus quietly.

Remus took a moment to seize Severus up. While his posture was as impeccable as always, his face betrayed a hint of nervousness. Perhaps he should hear him out, even if he’d behaved abhorrently. He gave him a curt nod and stepped aside to let him enter. After closing the door again, Remus turned to face him with crossed arms, arching his eyebrow expectantly.

Severus seemed to squirm a little, wringing his hands, until he finally said, “I have to apologise to you. For ignoring you this past week. I shouldn’t have disappeared without any explanation like that.”

“I’m glad you see your mistake, but I’m not the one you hurt with this, Severus,” Remus replied icily. It wasn’t entirely true, he _had_ been hurt, but not as much as Harry. His anger came crashing back into him and suddenly he found himself yelling, “Do you have _any_ idea what you’re putting Harry through? I thought you _cared_ about him! Was that all a lie? Why would you pretend only to drop him again out of nowhere? He’s a human being, not a toy to play with!”

Severus grimaced. “I know that, I—”

“Then _why?_ Why would you treat him like that? I swear to Merlin if you don’t _fix_ this, Severus, if you don’t apologise to him—”

“I already did!” shouted Severus, interrupting his rant.

Remus blinked at him in surprise. “You did? When?”

“Just before.”

“You apologised. To Harry. And he accepted it?”

“Well, there’s a little more to it, but essentially, yes,” Severus replied.

Remus eyed him suspiciously. Severus’ face didn’t give away a lot, but he could see that he was wary and tense.

“Explain,” Remus demanded. 

Severus immediately launched into a story of how the house-elves had suddenly refused to deliver his meals to his room, forcing him to go to the kitchen, where he’d found Narcissa waiting for him. Remus almost laughed. Narcissa certainly had her ways to get what she wanted, he was almost salty he didn’t think of that himself. Then again, the elves probably wouldn’t have followed his order before Severus’, since he wasn’t the one who owned them. Severus explained how Narcissa had confronted him about his retreat and how he was hurting Harry. Then he described how she had collapsed and Harry had suddenly been there, how he’d realised that she’d broken the Unbreakable Vow by spilling Harry’s secret to someone he did not want to know, and how he’d removed the vow to save her. 

Remus just stared at him wide-eyed. What the actual fuck? Draco was right, the amount of shit that went down in this house was significantly above average.

“But she’s fine now?” he asked worriedly.

“Yes, yes,” Severus assured him. “She’s completely unharmed. She even offered to take a new Vow, but Harry refused.”

“And you talked to Harry?” prodded Remus.

Severus gave him a crooked smile. “Well, not a lot, but I did apologise. He—” The smile widened. “He asked if he can call me Dad from now on.”

Remus’ eyes widened. He had figured that it’d be something Harry would want eventually, but he hadn’t expected it to happen so suddenly, especially not so soon after Severus’ rather harsh rejection. He felt his anger abate, but it didn’t disappear fully. Severus still owed him an explanation.

“I’m glad you worked things out with him,” said Remus, keeping his voice calm. “Now would you care to explain to me what the _fuck_ happened for you to suddenly disappear like that?” Okay, maybe not completely calm.

“I was foolish. On Harry’s birthday, I overheard him talking to Molly and— Well, in my head it sounded like he only accepted me because he felt like he had to, while considering the Weasleys to be his real family. I suppose old habits kicked in and I retreated behind my walls to avoid being vulnerable. It’s also why I’ve avoided you. With Harry not needing me, I didn’t see how you would still want to be around me. I did not want to wait for you to leave me behind, so I left you behind first. It’s a stupid defence mechanism, I know that, but pushing people away is all I’ve known how to do for the longest time.” He looked up at Remus with pleading eyes. “I hope you can forgive me, I value your friendship much more than I ever anticipated. I truly am sorry.”

And just like that, Remus’ anger melted away. Damn the man and his ability of being so damn _sincere_ , belying his usually cold demeanour. He forced himself to stay firm.

“And how do I know you won’t just abandon him again if something similar happens? How can I trust you not to fall back into old habits like that every time you’re confronted with the possibility of getting hurt? We’re all vulnerable, Severus, Harry most of all. He wears his heart on his sleeve and he loves people without hesitation. I won’t allow you to hurt him again just because you get insecure, I need to know that he can rely on you.” He was speaking for Harry as much as for himself. If he couldn’t trust Severus to stay— 

“I won’t,” Severus asserted. “He’s my son. Now that I know that he actually _wants_ me to be his father, I won’t turn my back on him again. I’m not saying I’ll be perfect, I’m expecting to make many, many mistakes, but none of them will involve abandoning him on purpose.”

“And what about me?” The words slipped out against his will. Severus’ eyes widened marginally, barely enough to notice, but Remus saw it. Instinctively, he listened for the man’s heart, for his breathing, and found both accelerating. It gave him enough courage to continue, “You were afraid I’d drop you because Harry didn’t need you, what about you dropping me as soon as your relationship with him is stable? I thought we were friends, or did I misunderstand the meaning behind our hour-long talks every evening? You didn’t just abandon Harry, you abandoned all of us. Even Draco, who you’ve known and loved his entire life. How can I be sure you won’t leave _me_ at the first sign of vulnerability? Because frankly, vulnerability is part of a friendship. What good is friendship if you can’t share your burdens with each other? You can’t run from people every time they get close to you, Severus.”

“I don’t want to do that,” answered Severus, though his voice had gone much quieter now. “I never meant to reject any of you like that and I’m sorry. Can you believe me when I say that I’ll do my best not to repeat such a thing?”

Remus hesitated. He seemed sincere. Slowly, he nodded, finally uncrossing his arms. Severus visibly relaxed.

“I haven’t quite forgiven you yet,” Remus insisted, and Severus grimaced slightly. A smirk spread on Remus’ face as he added, “But there’s something you could do that might make me forgive you faster.”

It was Severus’ turn to look suspicious now. “And what would that be?”

Remus grinned. “I imagine you haven’t noticed how…affectionate Harry and Draco have grown with each other while you were hiding away in your room. But trust me when I tell you that they are overdue for some parental guidance—Harry in particular.”

Severus’ expression morphed from suspicious to horror-stricken as his mind caught up with what Remus meant.

“You’re kidding,” he argued weakly. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

Remus shook his head. “Not in the slightest.”

“Aren’t you the expert on such things? Merlin knows what you and Black got up to.”

“Ah, but Narcissa tells me so are you,” countered Remus and watched with delight as Severus blushed. “How come you’ve never told me about Lucius Malfoy before?”

“It’s in the past,” Severus replied, not meeting Remus’ eyes.

“So is Sirius,” Remus shot back.

“I already knew about you and Black, there was nothing to tell,” Severus snapped.

“My point stands, you’re as qualified as me to have this conversation with Harry. Or is it supposed to be a secret?”

“What? No, of course not. I just—” Severus cringed a little. “Can’t Narcissa talk to him? She’s the one with parental experience.”

Remus gave a sharp laugh. “Already tried that, she refused. She insisted that one of us had to do it, and I suppose she has a point that it is our responsibility.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed resignedly. “Yes, I suppose she does. Fine, I’ll talk to him…soon.”

“Oh no, soon won’t cut it I’m afraid,” Remus objected. “I might have, well, heard them. This morning. It’s possible that we’re already too late, but if we wait any longer we’re guaranteed to be too late.”

“You _heard them?”_ Severus paled a little.

“I wasn’t particularly pleased about it either, trust me,” Remus retorted. He hesitated for a second before adding, “Though I must admit that I envy them a little.”

Severus’ gaze snapped to his, black eyes piercing, and Remus felt his heart skip a beat.

“How so?” asked Severus, his tone suddenly suspiciously neutral.

Remus shrugged, taking a casual step closer to him, then another. He heard Severus’ heart react, which only encouraged his own to accelerate as well.

“Having someone to be close to, someone to relax with. Nothing unwinds you quite like good sex, don’t you think?” he asked nonchalantly. Even to his own ears his voice sounded far less casual than he’d intended. Severus’ eyes darkened—Remus hadn’t even thought that was possible, but apparently it was.

“Yes, quite,” Severus agreed.

They were standing awfully close to each other now, close enough for Remus to feel the heat radiating off Severus’ body. It wasn’t even close to the full moon, why was he so sensitive? Their eyes locked, and Remus felt _want_ shoot through him like lightning. He was half aware that he gasped, but he was too captivated by Severus’ heated gaze to care. His eyes dropped to Severus’ lips just as the man’s tongue darted out to wet them.

Remus wasn’t sure who moved first, but within the blink of an eye they had closed the distance between them and their lips slotted together. He stifled a moan as he wrapped his arms around Severus’ waist and pulled him closer. The kiss was much gentler than what he’d imagined, though it was growing increasingly heated by the second. Severus’ lips were soft and hot and parted just enough for Remus to dip his tongue through, earning him a groan from Severus as their tongues met.

Without breaking their kiss, Remus walked Severus backwards until they hit the wall, pinning the slightly shorter man against it. Severus’ hands travelled up his back and tangled in his hair as they continued to explore each other’s mouths until suddenly, Severus _pulled_ , yanking Remus’ head back and baring his neck, which he promptly latched on to. Heat shot through Remus’ body and he allowed his hands to drop from Severus’ waist to his arse, pressing their crotches together. Severus moaned into his neck before pulling away with a gasp. Black eyes found his and Remus’ heart hitched.

“So you _do_ want me,” he murmured breathlessly, trying to calm himself a little.

Severus gave an equally breathless laugh. “Was it that obvious?”

“No, actually,” Remus replied with a small smile. “Matter of fact I was convinced you were straight until Narcissa told me about you and Lucius. She might’ve hinted at you having a crush on me as well.”

Severus rolled his eyes and muttered, “That woman is almost as bad as Albus with her meddling.”

“At least her meddling seems to have generally positive outcomes, as opposed to Albus’ schemes,” Remus chuckled.

“Yes, quite.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, then Remus leaned in again for another kiss. It was slower this time, more deliberate, but no less passionate. When they broke apart again, they were both panting heavily and Remus’ trousers had gotten uncomfortably tight. He really had to distract himself or this would escalate in _minutes._

“So, will you talk to Harry?” he asked cheekily, and the change in subject had the desired result of temporarily derailing his one-track mind. Severus groaned and rested his head against the wall.

“Do I have to?”

“You kinda do, yeah,” said Remus.

“And it has to be me and not you because…?”

“Because _you’re_ his father.”

“Right, but compared to you, my last experience with a man is far further in the past,” Severus argued, his hands wandering to Remus’ chest. “I barely remember the details, so perhaps it would be better if you—”

“Oh don’t worry, I can remind you of all the details you want,” Remus interrupted and Severus smirked. Yeah alright, he’d walked right into that setup, but he might’ve done it on purpose. Who wouldn’t?

Severus’ nimble fingers were already working their way down Remus’ shirt, undoing button after button and revealing his marred chest. For a moment he watched Severus’ reaction, waiting for a sign of disgust or for him to put an end to the whole thing, but none of it happened. He didn’t seem to care at all. Satisfied that Severus wouldn’t suddenly jump away from him in horror, Remus turned his attention to removing Severus’ robes. It was tedious work, and Remus was tempted to simply _vanish_ them instead, but Severus distracted him with another kiss and his wand was out of reach, so he resigned himself to work through the endless row of buttons, just to uncover another row of buttons on the waistcoat, then another one on the shirt underneath.

“How many damn layers of clothing are you wearing?” he asked between kisses.

“The right amount,” Severus responded, pushing away from the wall and walking them towards the bed. When Remus tumbled backwards onto the mattress, he pulled Severus with him and went right back to kissing him senseless.

He’d just gotten Severus’ shirt completely unbuttoned when the man suddenly let out a sharp hiss and jerked back violently.

“What’s wrong?” asked Remus, alarmed.

“The Mark, he’s calling us. Fuck,” Severus swore. He gave Remus an apologetic look, bent down and kissed him quickly. “I have to go.”

“Shit,” muttered Remus. He reached out to grab his wand and spelled Severus’ shirt, waistcoat and robes on and closed again. “Go.”

Severus nodded and moved hastily off the bed. Just as he was about to apparate, Remus called out to him again, “Severus. Be safe.”

Another nod, then he was gone, leaving Remus behind half-dressed on the bed. He fell back into the pillows with a sigh. Wonderful, now he’d spend the next few hours worrying until Severus was back. Last time he’d gone to a Death Eater meeting he’d returned nearly dead. Memories of that day flashed through Remus’ mind and he quickly tried to think of something else. At least his mood had been ruined thoroughly enough that he wasn’t horny anymore. He just needed something to do until Severus was back. Something that required all his attention, something like—

Right. He still had to have a conversation with Harry, and suddenly that prospect didn’t seem so bad in comparison to worrying about Severus. Putting his shirt back on, he got off the bed, carefully straightening out the rest of his clothes. Harry didn’t need to know about him and Severus, not before they’d actually discussed what was going on between them.

After a quick check in the mirror, he took a few breaths to steel himself, then went to go find Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, I can’t believe I wrote this entire chapter in less than a day, but I guess that’s what NaNoWriMo does (if that’s over by now, now you know when this chapter was written).  
> I have to say that writing Snupin is way out of my comfort zone, compared to writing Drarry, and if it hadn’t been an explicit request from my best friend, I’d be glossing over the details much more for that. I will do my best however to include as much Snupin half-smut (and hopefully smut at some point) as possible.
> 
> I'm posting this chapter a bit early - or, actually, a lot early. Since exams are over and I'm off meds I haven't been writing in days but I didn't want to make you wait longer than 2 weeks, so I'm breaking my 12-chapters-ahead rule and hope to catch up over Christmas break.
> 
> As always I hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading <3  
> \- Z.


	28. Reports and Notebooks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus returns with bad news and Draco does not like the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re nearing the end of Part 1 (Summer), and Part 2 (Hogwarts) will bring some changes with it, mostly in regard to POV frequency, so be warned about that.  
> I have decided to upload the last few chapters of Part 1 with an actual schedule (whaaat) and so I’ll be posting 29 next Friday and 30 the week after that. However, there’s most likely going to be a bit of a break after those two chapters, so I can build my head start again.  
> Since I completed my outline, I’ve been jumping back and forth between scenes, so my consistent head start is dwindling and I want it back.  
> But waiting shouldn’t be too bad, I hope, if I leave you with Part 1 completed.  
> For now: Enjoy chapter 28!  
> \- Z.

Draco was torn between being mortified and the urge to laugh hard enough to pass out. It felt a little like wanting the ground to swallow him whole, while also needing every ounce of self-restraint not to absolutely lose his composure. In the end, mortification won out and he stayed silent. Silent and still, as still as he could, his face _flaming_. 

He tried to tune Remus out, he really did. In fact, he wasn’t exactly sure why he’d been stupid enough to even walk back into Harry’s room after his mother had laughed in his confused face and told him that Remus might as well not repeat himself and sent him back upstairs. 

At least the memory of being sent down to his mother and right back up to Remus again fuelled enough affront to distract him a little, so he happily latched on to it while Remus was still talking, clearly uncomfortable himself. How dare he send Draco downstairs like a— like a _servant_ , probably knowing full well that his mother would just send him right back. And how dare his mother force him to endure _this?_

“Draco?” Remus’ voice pulled him out of his comfortable bubble of outrage and Draco startled slightly.

“What?” he asked, his blush returning immediately in full force.

“You’ll be safe, right? I can trust you to be careful with—”

 _“Yes,_ Remus,” Harry, whose face was redder than Weasley’s hair, interrupted hastily. “We’ll be careful, I promise, you don’t have to worry.”

“I hate this conversation as much as you do, cub, but I am responsible for you and—”

 _“It’s really fine!”_ Harry practically shouted.

Draco nodded quickly, hoping that the man would just _leave_ already _._ Thank Merlin, he did.

When he was at the door, he turned around again—Draco wanted to _scream_ , why couldn’t he just _go?_ —and said, “We’ll just never mention this conversation ever again, alright?”

“Never,” Harry readily agreed, and Remus finally left, pulling the door shut behind him.

Draco let out all the breath he’d been holding, burying his face in his hands. “Potter,” he accused, “that was the single most embarrassing and humiliating exchange I’ve ever had with another living being, and I’ve gone through it _because of you!”_

Harry gave him a bashful smile and nodded his agreement. “Yeah, no argument there, that was terrible. Let’s just forget it ever happened. Because it didn’t.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Draco muttered.

Harry laughed and shifted closer to Draco, pulling him against his chest. Despite his still raging embarrassment, Draco couldn’t help but smile. 

Harry’s mood had taken such a drastic turn, Draco had been downright flabbergasted at first when Harry had _finally_ returned with his requested bar of chocolate. When Draco demanded to know what the hell had taken Harry so long, he hadn’t expected to hear that his mother had torn Severus a new one for his behaviour in the week prior, resulting in Harry and Severus finally sorting out their horrendous communication issues and realising that they both very much wanted to be a part of each other’s life. He was pleased though. He’d been increasingly worried about Harry since the day after his birthday.

Harry wasn’t usually the type to be so…defeated. Harry had a temper—mind, it had mellowed out considerably since he’d been freed of those charms, but it was by no means gone. Harry ran head-first into danger, into confrontation, even into literal battle. Harry didn’t just give up. But these past few days, well, Harry had appeared to give up. Smiles had looked forced, green eyes dull, and he had stopped eating properly. It had unnerved and worried Draco to no end. Sure, he’d certainly been able to distract his boyfriend, to cheer him up momentarily again and again, but there had nonetheless been an air of defeat about him that just felt _wrong_ to Draco.

It made sense though, in a rather cruel way. Of course family was the one thing Harry would be hopelessly insecure about. Of course the thought of truly belonging was so foreign to him that he just _accepted_ when he was rejected without explanation. Draco had been furious with Severus. He’d tried to talk to him, even, but to no avail. His godfather had shut himself away, apparently determined to keep his distance from the rest of Grimmauld Place’s inhabitants, for whatever bloody reason.

If Harry was to be believed, said bloody reason had apparently been resolved in the long half-hour during which Harry had gone downstairs to fetch a couple of snacks for them. Just a quick break from reading, from studying. 

Draco still didn’t entirely understand what had happened, and he couldn’t help but feel that Harry was being suspiciously vague about it. But in the end he didn’t really care, as long as Severus didn’t turn around and reject Harry again out of nowhere. He was just happy that Harry was happy. And if Severus—or anyone else for that matter—dared to ruin that, Draco would have to retaliate. Because Harry was _his_ now, and Draco was fiercely protective of what was his.

They cuddled in silence for a long while, until his mother’s chiming charm called them down for dinner. Noticing Severus’ empty seat upon their arrival, Draco scowled. If they had patched things up, why wouldn’t Severus join them for dinner?

Remus clocked his expression and quickly shook his head. “He’s been summoned.”

Well, that was…not better, if not worse. Harry tensed next to him and Draco gave his hand a gentle squeeze as they settled down.

“When?” asked Harry, frowning deeply.

“About two hours ago,” replied Remus. “He’ll be fine, cub. He left immediately, there’s no reason why You-Know-Who would be upset with him.”

“As if that bastard needs a reason,” Harry spat.

Remus frowned, but he didn’t disagree. Draco hated that Harry was right. They ate mostly in silence, the atmosphere tense as they sat collectively worrying over Severus. The sound of someone apparating into the entrance hall echoed through the dining room like the lash of a whip, and Harry was on his feet in a heartbeat. Before he even made it to the door, though, Severus appeared in the doorway alive and well, his eyebrows arched questioningly at the sight of them staring at him wide-eyed.

“Have I missed something?” Severus drawled, looking around the room.

“You’re not hurt?” asked Harry, ignoring Severus’ bewildered look as he walked around him once, checking him over.

Severus’ face softened as he understood why they were all acting so odd. “No, I’m just fine, Harry. Although I’d love some dinner, and then there are a few things you all need to hear.”

Draco frowned. That did not sound very promising. He forced himself to be patient as Severus sat down and helped himself to a plate of food.

“So?” asked Harry, who had settled into his chair again, as soon as Severus was served. “What is it you need to tell us?”

Severus sighed, took a bite, chewed slowly and washed it down with a sip of water before finally speaking up, “The Dark Lord has found a willing recruit at Hogwarts. There’s going to be a Death Eater among the student body, and I don’t know who it is.” Draco sucked in a sharp breath and Harry’s face darkened. “I tried to get him to tell me, pretending that I would help whoever it was, but he refused. He insisted that it would be best if I knew nothing, in case Albus Dumbledore decided to read my mind.” Severus scoffed. “As if Albus would ever resort to the methods of the Dark Lord.”

“As if Dumbledore could read your mind in the first place,” Harry added, rolling his eyes.

Severus chuckled and shook his head. “I have no doubt he could, but he wouldn’t. Albus cares about his reputation too much to resort to cruelty.” His expression sobered. “Nevertheless, this is of significant importance, particularly to the two of you,” he continued, pointing at Harry and Draco.

“We’ll be careful, we would’ve been careful either way,” Draco said dismissively. “Wouldn’t we, Harry?”

The git had the audacity to give him a guilty little smile. Sometimes Draco could strangle him.

“No, you don’t understand,” Severus insisted. “Whoever this is, even though I am loath to admit it, they’re likely to be in Slytherin house. They will share your common room, Draco, perhaps even your dormitory. If your relationship becomes public, you will immediately become the golden ticket to Harry. You’d be a target, whether that be because you’re seen as a traitor or to use you to get to Harry—you’d be a target either way. Even as your Head of House I can not guarantee your safety around the clock.”

Draco felt something heavy settle in his stomach as the meaning of Severus’ words sunk in.

“You— Are you saying we have to keep our entire relationship a secret?!” Draco cried incredulously. “We’ll barely be able to see each other!”

Severus nodded, his eyes full of pity that Draco didn’t want. He could keep his pity, Draco wanted to be with Harry. Really be with Harry, not sneaking around in secluded corridors and empty classrooms. Not that he would mind getting Harry into an empty classroom, but that was supposed to be _extra_ , not the main thing. He turned to Harry, counting on his boyfriend to support him, but instead Harry’s expression was grim and thoughtful.

“He’s right, Draco.” Harry cringed under the glare Draco gave him. “I hate it, too, you know I do! But he’s right. If there’s a Death Eater at Hogwarts it’s probably a Slytherin, and if they see that you’re with _me_ , your life might be in danger.” He tentatively reached out to Draco, brushing his fingertips along Draco’s cheek. “I can’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered.

Draco scowled, but his traitorous heart could not refuse Harry when he looked at him with those pleading green eyes. Those eyes should be illegal. That entire face with that expression should be illegal, it was worse than the Imperius curse.

“Fine,” he grumbled, allowing Harry to pull his hand into his lap. “But in that case we have to find _some_ way to…I don’t know, _talk_ to each other! Can we be friendly with each other in public at least?”

“I would advise against it,” answered Severus. “It would be best if you acted like you did for the past five years, anything else would be suspicious.”

Draco made a frustrated noise and dropped his head onto the table. Harry’s fingers immediately began to caress his neck, touching softly, soothingly.

“We’ll figure something out, I promise,” Harry reassured him, and Draco forced himself to nod against the table. “Is there anything else?”

“A variety of unpleasant things,” Severus responded, and Draco lifted his head again, watching him as he reported what he’d learnt at the meeting. “He has taken several hostages, most notably Garrick Ollivander, the wandmaker. The number of Death Eaters that hold Ministry positions is growing every day, and they’re putting people under the _Imperius_ curse left and right. And he’s looking for you, Harry. His vigour to find and eliminate you seems to have been renewed, now that the press is continuously hailing you as the Chosen One.”

Harry just shrugged and dismissed it with, “Nothing new.”

“You have to be careful,” Severus admonished sternly. “Outside of these wards or the Hogwarts wards you are never safe, you can not let your guard down for even a second.”

“Yes, Dad, I know,” Harry sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically.

Draco’s eyes widened. He’d known, of course. Harry had _told_ him that he wanted to start calling Severus “Dad”, had told him that Severus had readily agreed to it. It still sounded _weird_ to hear Harry say that word and mean Severus with it. It sort of…confirmed the fact that they were father and son. It added that last missing fragment that made them two pieces of a pair. Suddenly their resemblance seemed much more obvious to Draco, as if it had been veiled before, obscured by something invisible.

“I’m just reminding you,” Severus insisted, but a small smile played around his lips. Draco knew that smile; Severus was pleased.

“Sure,” Harry replied, lips twitching like they always did when he tried to smother a smirk.

Draco had to admit that it was rather endearing. Their conversation shifted to less serious things then, such as how Sirona felt about her new designated spot in Harry’s room. When they dispersed from the dining room a short while later, Draco was almost content again. Almost.

Once they arrived back in their room the realisation that _this_ , this effortless way of being close to each other, would have to end soon hit Draco again. He’d gotten so used to always being around Harry. Sure, he’d always known that they wouldn’t be able to share a room anymore once they got back to Hogwarts, but up until now he’d worked under the assumption that they’d at least be able to be together in between classes and before curfew. And perhaps a little beyond curfew, especially now that he knew all about Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. Now all of a sudden they were supposed to pretend that they still hated each other?

“Draco.” Harry’s soft voice drew his attention like a beacon. “We’re gonna be alright, we’ll figure something out. Okay?”

He reached out to Draco, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. Even after almost a month of constantly being together, the contact turned Draco’s insides to jelly. With a resigned sigh, he allowed himself to melt into Harry’s embrace.

“Okay,” he mumbled, burying his face in Harry’s shoulder. He didn’t resist as Harry manoeuvred them over to the couch, settling them into their usual position to cuddle and read.

They didn’t do much for the rest of the evening, Harry keeping his head buried in a book Draco hadn’t seen before. It appeared to be on charms. Not a subject Harry had seemed to be overly interested in so far, but Draco knew better than to question him about it when he was hyper-focused, which he obviously was. He barely took his eyes off the thing until Draco finally got up and declared that he’d be taking a shower—and even then, all he got was a quick peck before Harry’s attention went right back to whatever charm he was studying so intently. 

Draco pushed down the mild wave of disappointment that rose up in him. He’d rather hoped for Harry to join him, but no matter. They still had plenty of time before they had to leave Grimmauld Place behind.

The following days had Harry equally distracted—or focused, depending on how you looked at it. In any case, Draco found himself increasingly bored as Harry continued to practice some rather complicated looking charm and obstinately refused to explain what it was for. Eventually, he decided to work on some potions after lunch, rather than watching Harry repeat the same spell over and over until it was time for his practice session with Remus.

Severus barely spared him a glance when he joined him in the lab, moving around the neatly organised station Severus was working at to set up his own further down the counter.

“What are you brewing?” asked Draco, peeking into the cauldron.

“Just stocking up on Pepper-Up potions,” answered Severus, not looking up from the Mandrake root he was cutting up with practiced precision. He slid the root off the cutting board and into the cauldron, then stirred until the potion darkened before lifting his head to look at Draco. “I still owe you an apology for my behaviour last week. I realise that I’ve neglected you just as much and I’m sorry. How are you holding up?”

Draco smiled as he set up a cauldron and began to gather the ingredients he needed from the shelves. “I accept your apology, thank you,” he said primly. 

It was a response his mother had drilled into him for years. She had insisted that a deserved apology should simply be accepted, not diminished by soothing away any potential guilt with phrases like “it’s alright”. Severus certainly seemed to appreciate the approach, judging from the slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m doing rather well,” Draco continued, turning on a burner and setting his cauldron on top. “Even better now that Harry isn’t half-depressed anymore.” He shot Severus a mild glare and his godfather cringed slightly. “Not particularly looking forward to going to school if I’m completely honest. I like it here, I wish we could just stay.”

Severus nodded. “It will be difficult to adjust for all of us, we’ve grown used to each other’s company.”

“I just don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to treating Harry the way I used to in the hallways. I can barely look at him without wanting to—” He snapped his mouth shut, feeling a faint flush of colour rise in his cheeks.

“I know how you feel,” sighed Severus, absent-mindedly stirring his potion. “It won’t be easy to pretend to hate him, to treat him as I did before, but it’s a necessity. Nobody can find out that he is my son. Frankly I was already unhappy about telling the _entire_ Weasley family, too many mouths that could accidentally let something slip. I promised him to treat his friends more fairly, but ironically the same can’t go for him. At least giving him detention for everything he does will allow me to see him without anyone getting suspicious.”

“At least you _have_ a way to see him without anyone getting suspicious!” Draco whined. “What am I supposed to do to see him? Sneak out after curfew, hoping I won’t get in trouble every single day? We won’t be able to be together in peace for a single minute as soon as we’re at Hogwarts.”

He started to pick at a sprig of peppermint, trying to control his irritation. It wasn’t actually Severus’ fault that they couldn’t make their relationship public, even if the childish part of Draco’s brain tried to blame it on him for being the one who pointed it out.

“You could simply happen to come to my office during Harry’s detention sometimes,” Severus offered. “We could all have dinner together.”

Gratitude and stubborn petulance warred in Draco. “That’s not— I mean, thank you, really; I’d love to come for dinner with you two. But you understand that having dinner with my boyfriend and his father once in a while is not what I’m talking about. I want to spend time with Harry alone, talking, practising spells, reading, cuddling—none of which I’ll be able to do anymore once we leave Grimmauld Place.”

“I know, Draco,” Severus said quietly.

Draco didn’t respond, focusing on sorting his prepped ingredients. Severus stayed silent as well, and for a while they just brewed, each caught up in his own thoughts. Eventually though, Draco’s frustration with the situation subsided enough for his curiosity to surface.

“So, how are things between you and Harry?” he probed carefully. Harry had told him his side of things, of course, but Draco couldn’t help but wonder how Severus felt about it all. 

His godfather gave him a surprised look and didn’t answer immediately, his expression turning thoughtful. Draco could almost see his mind work behind his black eyes. 

Eventually, Severus slowly said, “The incident in the kitchen broke down walls we were both hiding behind. Of course, that doesn’t mean that I suddenly know everything there is to know about him. Our relationship as father and son is still…delicate, but it’s there, it exists, and I’m beyond grateful for that alone. I honestly did not expect Harry to be able to forgive me for all my errors, but he has once more proven me wrong. I suspect you can somewhat relate to that.”

Draco snorted. “A little,” he agreed. “What’s it like to suddenly be a father?”

Severus gave him a flat stare. “Frankly, it was less of a change than anticipated. I have you to thank for that, being the spoiled little brat that you are, you’ve thoroughly prepared me for fatherhood. Besides, Harry isn’t a toddler, it’s not like he needs a caretaker.” His lips twitched when Draco rolled his eyes. “It does feel a little strange to be called Dad, I suppose.”

“It’s strange to hear it, too,” Draco added.

“You know that this doesn’t change that I’m still here for you, too, right? I am still your godfather,” Severus pointed out, his tone cautious. 

Draco glanced up at him in surprise. “Of course, why would it change anything?”

“It wouldn’t. I am merely trying to be more clear in my communication, seeing as that created…issues before,” Severus drawled, sounding much more like himself now.

“You can say that again,” Draco quipped back, smothering a smirk. 

He carefully counted six strands of Asian Dragon hair and dropped them into his cauldron, which made the concoction inside glow brightly for a few seconds.

“What are _you_ brewing?” asked Severus, looking over Draco’s station in an obvious attempt at figuring it out based on his ingredients. Draco was almost certain that this would be one of the few recipes Severus didn’t know.

“Just my shampoo,” he replied, stirring in the hair until the liquid turned pale purple.

Severus gave him an incredulous look. “You brew your own shampoo?”

“And most of my other cosmetics—conditioner, moisturisers, body wash, cologne—you name it. Why would I use subpar products when I can just make my own? You should try it sometime, would do your hair some good.” 

He bottled the finished shampoo and sealed it. Severus was still staring at him disbelievingly. 

“What?” he huffed, starting to feel mildly uncomfortable under Severus’ gaze.

Severus shook his head, as if trying to snap himself out of his stupor, and quickly said, “Nothing, I was merely surprised. What do you mean by ‘it would do my hair some good’?”

It was Draco’s turn to stare incredulously. “No offence, Sev, but you’re not the most polished person. Do you ever actually wash your hair?”

“Of course I do!” Severus protested. “Spending all day in a cloud of potion fumes usually undoes the effort though.”

Draco pursed his lips, thinking. “Let me try something,” he told Severus after a brief pause, and turned back to his station, spelling his cauldron clean and filling it with a fresh basis of distilled water.

Four hours later, Draco walked back into his and Harry’s room grinning broadly. It had taken three attempts to get the modifications right, but he was fairly confident the mixture he’d brewed for Severus would work the way he intended. His satisfaction with himself, however, was quickly overshadowed by the look of pure joy lighting up Harry’s face as soon as he saw Draco enter.

“Draco! Draco look, I did it!” Harry practically pounced on him, sweeping him up in a passionate kiss that was over as suddenly as it had begun, and eagerly pulled him over to the desk and pointed at…two plain black notebooks? Draco gave him a confused look, then glanced down at the desk again. There was nothing else he could be pointing at.

“You acquired notebooks? Careful, Potter, if you go on like that people might start to believe you actually know how to use your brain, you’re almost as bad a swot as Hermione,” he said sarcastically.

Harry burst out laughing and shook his head, explaining, “No, silly, I didn’t just _acquire_ them, I spelled them! Watch.”

He flipped both of them open, picked up a quill and scrawled a short sentence into one of them, before tapping the words with his wand. The ink promptly changed colour, and, far more importantly, an exact copy of Harry’s barely legible handwriting appeared in the other notebook instantaneously. Draco sucked in a sharp breath.

“How—”

“Double Protean charm,” Harry proclaimed proudly. “I had the idea because of how Muggle cell phones work, and I remembered that Hermione used a Protean charm for our DA galleons last year. The galleons only worked one-way though, so I did some research and found a way to make it work both ways. Then I thought it’d be convenient if the ink changed colour once a message is sent, y’know so we don’t write something and then forget to actually send it over. Oh and I added a privacy charm, you’ll have to imprint your magical signature on yours before you can use it. That way nobody else will be able to read it.”

Draco just stared at Harry at a loss for words. That’s what he’d been doing these past few days?

“Draco? Are you alright, sweetheart?” Harry eyed him with obvious concern, his excitement fading rapidly into a frown. “I’m sorry, maybe it was a stupid idea. You can tell me if you don’t like them and I’ll think of something else, I—”

Draco cut him off with a kiss. It took less than a heartbeat for Harry to relax and melt into Draco’s arms that he’d put around him. _If I had known how effective that is, I’d have shut him up years ago_ , Draco mused, as their lips moved against each other in slow, languid motions.

He kept his arms tight around Harry when he pulled back, watching Harry’s eyes flutter open slowly. The green of his irises had darkened and his pupils were blown wide. His dazed expression made Draco want to snog him all over again.

“You do like them then?” asked Harry, his voice a little husky in a way that sent shivers down Draco’s spine.

“What a ridiculous question, of course I like them,” Draco drawled, but even to his own ears it sounded hopelessly affectionate. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were trying to do? I could’ve helped, I happen to be quite good at charms.”

Harry’s cheeks reddened slightly and he mumbled something Draco couldn’t understand.

“Come again?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he repeated, cheeks darkening further. “You were so upset about having to keep this—us—a secret, I thought maybe a convenient way to stay in touch would cheer you up a bit.”

Draco struggled to keep breathing as he felt something rush through him that was near impossible to describe. It felt warm and gentle and tight and serene and exciting all at once, a wave of sweetness, even though sweetness wasn’t supposed to be something you could feel but something you could taste—he felt it. It simultaneously made him want to laugh with giddy excitement and wrap himself around Harry so tightly that nothing could ever separate them again. He settled for kissing him once more.

“Thank you,” he breathed when their lips finally parted.

Harry smiled at him and that indescribable feeling surged through Draco again like a tidal wave. He felt like he was going to explode any second. 

Gods, he loved him.

Draco froze as soon as the thought registered in his conscious mind. He saw Harry’s brows twitch inwards and immediately shoved it away. _Not now, think about it later_ , he told himself sternly, forcing down the flurry of emotions rising in him and willing himself to act naturally.

“So,” he began, grateful that his voice was steady, “how do I imprint my magical signature on the thing?”

Letting go of Harry, he turned to the journals and picked up the one Harry hadn’t written into yet. It was an elegant thing with thick pages, bound in smooth black leather. His fingers brushed over something cold at the back of it and he curiously turned it over. A silver plaque was embedded in the leather, displaying three letters: _D.L.M._ His initials. He looked up at Harry and his face must’ve betrayed his astonishment because Harry just gave him a sheepish smile and lifted the other notebook, showing him the matching golden plaque with the initials _H.J.P._ on the back of it.

“Shit, Harry, where did you get these?!”

“I custom ordered them,” he grinned.

“But we only just found out about the Death Eater student three days ago!” Draco cried.

“Yes, well, I might have been thinking about it for a bit longer already. Even if we were able to make our relationship public, you’d still be in the dungeons and I’d be in Gryffindor tower. I wanted a way to talk to you, even when we can’t see each other. They only arrived a couple days ago though, so the timing was quite impeccable actually.”

“You are such a—ridiculously—sappy—Gryffindor.” Draco accentuated every word with a kiss and Harry laughed against his lips. “Thank you,” whispered Draco, holding Harry’s face between his hands, holding his gaze intently. “They’re absolutely brilliant and I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about it earlier.”

“I wanted it to be finished,” Harry defended himself.

“Yes, yes, just show me how I do the imprint thing,” Draco waved him off.

And as Harry launched into an explanation of the personalised privacy charm he’d put on the books, Draco thought that maybe, just maybe, going back to school wouldn’t be as horrible as he’d imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And once again this is only half of what was supposed to be in this chapter because the middle parts turned out longer than expected.  
> I hope you like the little dose of Draco-Severus content :)
> 
> There is also something in this chapter relating to the _Harry Potter has ADHD_ tag: Hyperfocus.  
> As someone with ADHD, I rarely see this aspect of it in any type of media, and really wanted to include it — especially since it does actually occur with canon-Harry in the books, too. It’s an aspect of ADHD that is often underestimated; the inability to wrench yourself away from the thing that is currently fascinating/important to you. There were already hints of this in earlier chapters, when Harry couldn't focus on anything other than healing.  
> It can in some cases be quite a strain on relationships. Even in this chapter, Draco feels sort of ignored by Harry — it just doesn’t go on for long enough to truly grow into an issue. In real life, things aren’t always that neatly solved within three days, nor do obsessions just vanish if your partner needs more attention. Neither does hyperfocus let you go when you really really should be focusing on something else (like work or school), which can have quite drastic consequences over time. It can be a difficult thing to manage and I wanted to include it.  
> Alright, I’ll shut up about ADHD again.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter and as always thanks for reading! <3  
> — Z.


	29. Duels and Clarifications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus duels Harry and finally has a conversation with Remus about the nature of their relationship.

Severus eyed the bottle of mint green liquid Draco had given him with mixed feelings. While the boy seemed awfully sure that this concoction was the solution to Severus’ perpetually greasy hair, Severus himself wasn’t sure what to think of it, given that Draco had _developed_ the thing in only four hours, and this was only the third attempt. But what harm could it possibly do?

_It could make your hair fall out._

Severus shook his head. No, even within four hours, Draco was capable enough to produce something that would at least be harmless if it didn’t work. He seemed to be rather familiar with brewing cosmetics, though Severus supposed he should’ve figured that, given Draco’s upbringing with Narcissa. He himself had never really bothered with appearances too much, there were more important things to think about. If he had put his mind to it, he probably could’ve found a solution to the potion fumes ruining his hair within the first few hours of the day, but the truth was that he had simply accepted it as a side-effect of his occupation and stopped bothering about it. Now that Draco had done the work, though, he couldn’t deny that he was mildly intrigued. And Draco had insisted he try it immediately, so what choice did he really have?

It certainly wouldn’t hurt his chances with Remus if the thing worked the way Draco had promised. Ah, Remus. The current riddle to be solved. Ever since their…confrontation three days ago had ended so abruptly, they seemed to be dancing around each other. Severus sighed as he slipped into his room. Somehow he’d been hoping that Remus would act the brave Gryffindor and bring the subject up, but their routine of nightly conversations had been disrupted by Severus’ hiatus and they hadn’t picked it back up so far.

He had, however, spent the previous evening with Harry after their Occlumency lesson. While it admittedly still felt rather odd to talk to the boy about his personal life, Severus hadn’t hesitated to tell him about his time at Hogwarts with Lily. Harry had seemed appreciative. In turn, Harry had told him about the discovery he’d made at Gringotts over three weeks ago.

  


_“I am what?!” Severus asked incredulously._

_“Lord of House Prince, or Lord Prince, whichever is the proper one.”_

_“And you are heir to how many titles?”_

_“Six, though three are ‘disputed’ whatever that means,” Harry replied with a shrug._

_“How did I not know about this?”_

_“Never forgot your Gringotts key?” Harry suggested cheekily._

_“Certainly not, but I still should’ve known about being a_ Lord _,” Severus insisted._

_“Have your parents never mentioned it?”_

_“My father was a Muggle, he wouldn’t have known. But no, my mother never said a word, and we certainly didn’t have the riches of a ‘Noble and Most Ancient’ wizarding line. Though, admittedly, she died before her parents did, so perhaps she never even got her inheritance—which would explain why she didn’t feel the need to tell me about it.”_

_“What happened to her?”_

_“A spell went awry one day, I was at school at the time…”_

  


Thus thoroughly distracted by his thoughts, he reached out to the bathroom door, only to flinch back at the last second. A flush crept up his neck as he remembered Remus lying in the bathtub, barely covered by white foam. Better to knock first. When there was no response, Severus opened the door and peered inside. Empty. Good.

He quickly locked _both_ doors leading inside and undressed to take a shower. The shampoo Draco had brewed smelled surprisingly good, and so far it seemed effective. Whether it lived up to the promise of withstanding potion fumes remained to be seen.

After he’d dressed again, Severus glanced out of the window to see Remus getting ready for his daily duelling session with Harry. Despite the dreary weather, they still practised in the garden. Harry had mentioned the idea of converting one of the second floor bedrooms into a training room, but so far that hadn’t happened and Severus honestly wasn’t convinced any of these rooms would be big enough for that purpose—especially if they wanted the training dummy Remus had given Harry for his birthday to be _any_ challenge at all. Harry usually beat it within seconds even when it had space to move.

They were already at it when he stepped out the back door to watch. Harry was turning into a formidable duellist, and Severus watched with pride as his son evaded a series of jinxes that Remus shot his way. Draco was sitting on the sidelines, watching.

“Not participating today?” asked Severus as he walked up to his godson.

“Already out,” Draco grumbled without looking up. “Harry disarmed me after barely five seconds, I wasn’t even ready.”

“In a real fight your opponent wouldn’t wait for you to be ready either, and they’d do far worse than take your wand,” said Severus.

Draco gave him an irritated glare, but his expression quickly morphed into one of delight. He jumped up excitedly and shrieked, “You used it! Did it work? Did you like the smell? Is there anything you’d want to change?”

“Yes, I used it,” Severus cut into Draco’s rapid fire questions. “It worked as any other shampoo would work, yes I liked the smell, and I wouldn’t know what to change.”

“We’ll have to test it when you spend hours in your lab again,” Draco declared.

Severus laughed. “Yes, we will.”

 _“Stupefy!”_

Harry’s cry drew Severus’ attention back to the duel just in time to see Remus collapse. Before he could decide how to react, Harry had already jogged across the garden to revive him and pulled him to his feet.

“Well done, cub, you’ve won the last ten matches,” Remus praised, rubbing his chest where the stunner had hit him.

“It’s only because I know how you fight now,” Harry replied with a shrug, then pointed his wand at Remus and murmured a healing spell.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I don’t think it’s only because of that, though,” Remus insisted, continuing their conversation. “You beat Draco as well and you haven’t been duelling him as much yet.”

“He wasn’t ready, that doesn’t count,” Harry replied dismissively.

“Damn right it doesn’t,” Draco agreed. “I’ll beat your arse next time, Potter.”

Harry grinned and leaned over to give Draco a kiss. Severus kept his eyes fixed forward to avoid automatically glancing at Remus. Did he notice? Was _he_ looking?

“Let’s have a rematch then,” proposed Harry, already walking back to his usual starting position.

“Or you could duel me,” said Severus casually. 

Remus inhaled sharply, and Severus met his eyes for the first time since coming out into the garden. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, then Remus nodded and said, “That would certainly be a challenge, cub. But you should probably fight him one-on-one first, before trying to take on all three of us.”

Harry looked thoughtful, then a slow grin spread on his face as he replied, “Alright, sure. Same rules as always, the match ends if either one is disarmed or stunned.”

Severus nodded and pulled his wand from his sleeve as he got into position where Remus usually stood. He’d watched enough of their fights to know approximately how they usually went down. Nevertheless, he found himself somewhat nervous. He hadn’t actively fought in a while, his high-ranking position among the Death Eaters spared him of having to participate in most raids.

“Ready?” called Remus. “On the count of three. One—two—three!”

Severus conjured a shield, barely in time to block Harry’s first attack. No hesitation there, alright then. Keeping up his shield, Severus fired three different jinxes at his son, all aimed at different angles, but Harry deflected them—still not raising a shield of his own, but rather aiming weak spells directly at Severus’ incoming attacks. It was not a strategy that he was likely to use in a real fight, but it admittedly allowed him to preserve his strength better than a permanent shield would have.

It was only when Severus shot two spells so closely behind each other that the second one was barely visible that Harry’s defence failed and he was hit with a Leg-Locker curse. Not missing a beat, a shield sprung up in front of him, repelling Severus’ next attack as he counteracted the curse and rolled away just in time as the shield cracked. Severus smiled grimly. So far his son was on the defence, except that first attack which had obviously been for the sake of testing Severus’ reflexes.

Strengthening his own shield, Severus took a moment to consider his approach. Harry was fighting fast and with precise aim; the only spell that hit him had been reversed within mere seconds. If he wanted to land an actual hit, he’d have to occupy Harry for long enough to break through his shield so he’d be able to disarm him.

Just as he reached his conclusion—it couldn’t have taken longer than a couple seconds—an incredibly strong hit of magic shattered his shield. He barely managed to evade the red jet of a Stupefy that followed closely behind, before quickly raising a new shield. Harry’s expression of grim determination as he raised his wand again made Severus’ blood run cold for a moment, before remembering that this was merely a duel.

He kept his attention on his defence now, as Harry hailed spells on him. Strong spells. Strong enough that Severus felt his magic seep from him after barely a few minutes, and he hadn’t gotten in more than a few sporadic attacks himself.

As the minutes ticked by, the duel grew fiercer. Harry’s flood of attacks eventually waned, replaced by an unconventional combination of Lumos Maxima and conjuring a dark fog, effectively blinding Severus. Vanishing the fog, Severus blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the flimmer obscuring his vision. Where the hell was— There.

Seeing that Harry hadn’t put up a new shield, Severus shot three stunners in quick succession, hoping that one would find its target. None did. Instead, they suddenly seemed to _turn around,_ flying back towards Severus himself. His shield crumbled under the first one, then the second one hit him square in the chest and everything went dark.

“There we go,” said Remus’ voice, as he slowly opened his eyes. The blurry face hovering above him wore an expression of concern mixed with amusement. “He’s impressive, isn’t he?”

Severus groaned and nodded. “Very impressive, I must admit,” he agreed, rubbing his chest.

Harry crouched down next to him, grinning broadly. 

“Sorry, Dad. I’ll heal that, hold still.” 

He already had his wand pointed at Severus’ chest, and only a second later the dull ache of the stunner faded.

“Thank you,” Severus murmured, getting to his feet. “That was quite an interesting technique. How did you make my spells turn against me?”

“I didn’t,” replied Harry. At Severus’ questioning look he explained further, “It’s an illusion. Your spells went through until they hit my shield—”

“You didn’t have a shield,” Severus interrupted.

“Yes, I did, it just wasn’t a Protego,” Harry insisted. “Anyway, your spells hit my shield and bounced—I simply timed my own attack to pass my shield at the exact moment yours bounced, so it would look like yours turned around rather than deflected.”

“That—” Severus broke off and considered for a moment. It wasn’t impossible, if Harry’s shield had been raised far further away from him than one normally would place a shield—halfway across their battleground. He must’ve put it up under the cover of the fog.

“Well done, cub,” said Remus proudly, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

“Yes, well done,” agreed Severus. 

Harry beamed at him.

“Rematch?” he asked eagerly.

“Aren’t you tired?” Remus eyed him with a hint of concern.

“A little, but I’ll manage a couple more rounds,” Harry insisted.

“Alright then,” Remus relented, “who do you want as your opponent?”

Harry considered for a moment, then grinned and said, “Draco and I versus you and Severus.”

Severus’ eyebrows shot up. He hadn’t seen them fight in teams before, not even all in the beginning when Draco had first joined. He eyed Remus, who gave him a small shrug as if to say “Why not?”

“Alright,” said Severus, stepping back to where he’d started before, “the team with the last man armed and standing wins.”

The duel that ensued was as fierce as the last one and far more hectic. With two opponents and an ally to protect, the logistics of it all were twice as complicated. The fight lasted a long while, and when Harry managed to disarm Remus, Severus suddenly found himself faced with two quite skilled duellists and with rather depleted energy reserves. It ended quickly after that, although he managed to disarm Draco right as his own wand flew from his into Harry’s hand.

Harry suggested one more round, but Remus refused, claiming that Harry had to watch his strength more carefully.

“In a real fight it’s better to stop while you still have enough energy to apparate, rather than fighting until you’re depleted and then being stuck without a way out.”

“But this _isn’t_ a real fight,” Harry complained.

“Still, I don’t want you to pick up habits that could cost you your life on a battlefield,” Remus maintained stubbornly, and Harry relented with an eye-roll.

The two boys disappeared into the house, leaving Severus and Remus behind alone in the garden. Alone for the first time since Severus had gone to Remus’ room to apologise. Severus’ nerves fluttered and he cast a glance over at the other man. Remus gave him a wry smile.

“I could use a drink after this,” said Severus, hoping his voice didn’t sound as cautious to Remus as it did to himself.

“Merlin, yes,” Remus agreed heartily.

Severus’ nerves calmed a little, and they headed up into the drawing room together, where Severus poured them two glasses of firewhisky before they settled down in one of the smaller seating areas with only three armchairs around a small table.

For a moment, neither of them said a word. Then Remus smiled, took a sip of his firewhisky and pointed at Severus’ head.

“I like your hair.”

“Draco insisted on brewing me a shampoo,” Severus replied, willing the blush rising on his cheeks to go away with little success.

“So I’ve heard, he was telling Harry about it before our practice,” said Remus.

A beat of silence passed between them.

“He’s good. Better than I expected even, and I already knew that he was improving rapidly.”

Remus nodded in agreement and took another sip of firewhisky. “I’m running out of things to teach him if I’m completely honest. Perhaps you have a few more spells up your sleeve?”

Severus hesitated. He knew what Remus meant, of course. Dark arts. Admittedly, it wouldn’t hurt if Harry were able to use more destructive spells—he was most likely going to be fighting Death Eaters after all. And Harry would never abuse such spells and use them against innocents.

“A few, perhaps,” he said slowly, still somewhat reluctant to fully agree.

They sat silently, both lost in thought, for a little while. Eventually Severus’ mind went back to their encounter three days ago and stubbornly refused to let it go again. Well, if Remus wouldn’t bring it up, he’d have to do it himself. That much about Gryffindor bravery.

“We should talk,” Remus spoke up just as Severus had come to his decision.

Startled, Severus blinked at him, before replying, “Yes, we should.”

Remus took a deep breath, then looked Severus straight in the eye. His amber eyes shone with an intensity that sent a shiver down Severus’ spine.

“What happened last Saturday,” Remus began, “What was it, to you?”

Straight to the point, just like Harry. Gryffindors.

“I’m not sure,” answered Severus truthfully. “What was it to you?”

“I’m not entirely sure either, to be completely honest. In part it is what I said back then, a desire to have someone to be close to and relax with. Plus I can’t deny that I miss sex quite a bit.” He gave Severus a lopsided smile. “That in combination with the tension between us back then because of our argument—I suppose we just cracked under it.”

Severus wasn’t quite sure how to feel. He could agree with Remus’ basic sentiment, but he made it sound like it was a mistake. It hadn’t felt like a mistake to him, not in the slightest.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, keeping his voice as even as possible and his face neutral.

Remus barked a laugh. “Merlin, no! Not one bit. Do you?”

“No,” answered Severus, warm relief spreading through him. “Do you—” He hesitated for a moment, before forcing himself to finish the question, “Do you want it to happen again?”

Remus’ eyes lit up at that, and Severus recognised that glint of hunger that made his mouth go dry immediately.

“Absolutely. If you want it as well, of course.”

“Definitely,” Severus reassured him quickly.

For a long moment they just stared at each other, and Severus knew he must look just as eager as Remus. But there was more to discuss before he could give in to the desire to slam the man into a wall and undress him with his teeth.

“Nevertheless,” he forced himself to continue, “I do not want to put our current relationship at risk. Not only are we both responsible for Harry, but I truly do value you as a friend. If this is going to happen again, we should be clear about our intentions and boundaries.”

“I agree,” said Remus.

Severus waited for the man to continue, but when Remus stayed silent, he relented and asked, “So, what are your intentions?”

Remus laughed. “As I said, I’m not entirely sure. I know that I’m attracted to you, that much is obvious I believe. I’d even dare to say that I like you, but there’s a fine line between friendship and romantic feelings. Sirius has been gone for not even two full months; I’d be lying if I told you that I am completely over losing him—again.” His eyes had turned incredibly sad as he spoke, and Severus felt a wave of affection for him. Remus blinked and seemed to come back to himself, then he looked back at Severus and asked, “What are _your_ intentions?”

Severus hesitated, then, choosing his words carefully, he slowly replied, “I suppose I’m not entirely sure either. I appreciate you as a friend and I would like us to continue to develop that friendship. In your words: I like you, and I’m obviously attracted to you as well. But as you said, it’s difficult sometimes to tell the difference between friendship and romantic feelings.”

“At least we’re on the same page there,” said Remus with a wry smile.

“So, where does that leave us?” asked Severus.

“We can agree that our friendship and our responsibility toward Harry take precedent, correct?” Severus nodded. “We also agree that there is mutual attraction between us.” He nodded again. “Then how about we keep our friendship the way it is and simply…indulge sometimes? It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

It took Severus a second to fully grasp what Remus meant. 

“Are you suggesting a friendship but with sex type of thing?” he asked, mildly surprised. 

He hadn’t expected Remus to be the type to suggest anything so emotionally detached. Something akin to disappointment welled up in him. Was that all Remus saw in him? Then again, it wasn’t like they were agreeing to just fuck and never talk otherwise. They were simply putting their friendship first, because it was undeniable that romantic feelings could complicate everything to a destructive degree. He hadn’t been in love since Lily. 

The memory of the Dark Lord digging into his mind and finding Lily flared up. No, perhaps this was a good thing. He had to compartmentalise anything that could make him vulnerable, and keeping this casual could only aid that endeavour. Severus couldn’t afford to fall in love now—not in the middle of a war with his own son at its centre. With Remus offering companionship and casual sex Severus got the best of both worlds—the safety of emotional detachment and the luxury of satisfied desires.

“I guess so, unless that’s unacceptable to you?”

“No, no, not at all. Sounds perfect to be honest,” said Severus.

A smile spread on Remus’ face, and that hungry glint flickered in his eyes again. Then he seemed to rein himself in again as he said, “I don’t think Harry should know about it, in that case. He might not understand this type of arrangement, and I’m not sure what he’d think if his guardian and his father suddenly started to— Well, you know.”

“I agree, Harry shouldn’t know,” replied Severus. “It shouldn’t be a problem to stay discreet, should it?”

“No, it definitely shouldn’t,” Remus agreed. “Besides, we won’t spend every free second with each other, unlike Harry and Draco we’re not sixteen anymore.”

Severus laughed. “Indeed.”

“Nevertheless,” Remus began, setting down his glass as he moved out of his chair and approached Severus, “we were interrupted last time.”

The energy between them changed in a heartbeat, and Severus felt his whole body tense in anticipation as Remus came to stand above him. He leaned down, one hand on Severus’ jaw, his lips hovering close enough before Severus’ that they were breathing the same air. The tension mounted until it became unbearable and Severus closed the distance.

Remus’ mouth was warm and soft and moving just the way Severus liked. Within seconds Remus had slid onto his lap and Severus sunk his hands in his hair, pulling him closer. The thought of a privacy charm flitted through Severus’ mind, and he was about to break the kiss to suggest it, when Narcissa’s chiming charm rang through the house.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” Remus murmured irritably, drawing a laugh from Severus.

“Later,” he promised, as he pushed Remus off his lap and stood up from his chair.

“Fine, later.”

Remus gave him another quick, hard kiss, then turned and left the drawing room without looking back. Severus smiled and followed. He was very much looking forward to later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank Merlin for adults actually acting like adults, right? How do we feel about kinda-having-feelings-but-very-good-at-rationalising Severus? Can’t possibly go wrong, right?  
> This chapter is comparably short (jeez, we’ve gone from a 2000 word average to a 5000 word average per chapter), but it covers a couple of important things:  
> 1\. Sev’s reaction to Harry’s inheritances, because back when Harry found out about that they were very much not talking about personal things.  
> 2\. Remus and Severus talking about the nature of their relationship.  
> I originally didn’t have this chapter in and thought I’d wrap that conversation up as a sort of flashback, but then decided that it’s a bit of a stretch to let so much time pass until they talk.
> 
> The countless comments on the ADHD representation on the last chapter made me so happy, y'all have no idea <3 I'm glad so many of you could relate or felt like you learnt something new. Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.
> 
> I keep forgetting to add it, but consider every chapter beta-read by [PotionDaddy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionDaddy) unless otherwise specified. Thanks again, darling.
> 
> As always I hope you enjoyed it and thank you for reading <3  
> \- Z.


	30. Summer's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer comes to an end and Harry has to visit Diagon Alley one more time.

Compared to how July had seemed to last forever, August flew by incredibly quickly. The inhabitants of Grimmauld Place had established their routines both individually and together, and they’d grown into a real family—at least in Harry’s opinion. Not that he knew much about what real families were supposed to be like, but to him they were one.

Draco and him spent most of their time together, knowing that soon they wouldn’t get many chances to just _be_ anymore. So, Draco joined Harry’s daily duelling training with Remus, and Harry followed Draco into the lab to keep him company while he brewed Merlin knew what for his hair, only to have Severus talk him into going over the sixth year curriculum in Potions. Apparently their new teacher, Horace Slughorn, accepted N.E.W.T. students with an Exceeds Expectations in their O.W.L. exams, which meant that Harry could continue the subject after all.

Unfortunately, Slughorn also wasn’t the best teacher according to Severus, and he insisted on drilling both Harry and Draco on the theoretical aspects that were covered during sixth year, as well as having them write down all the recipes they’d learn. In response to Draco’s question why they should have to write it all down themselves if there was a potions’ book on their booklist, Severus snorted and promptly went on a fifteen minute rant about how that book had already been outdated when he himself was a student, and that it was absurd that Slughorn still intended to use it when most of the recipes had long since been improved and adjusted.

Neither of them questioned Severus’ teaching demands after that, and Harry had to admit that he rather enjoyed brewing now that he actually had a grasp on the subject.

He also spent more time with Severus than he had before, one of the few things that would separate him from Draco, usually sitting in the drawing room for a glass of wine—Harry was slowly getting used to the taste of it—and a game of chess, which Harry almost always lost in the beginning. They talked about all sorts of things—healing, spell-crafting, Harry’s mother, Order business, the competence or incompetence of Hogwarts teachers, his plans for the DA in the upcoming term—and Harry felt increasingly at home in Severus’ presence. 

Sometimes Draco, Remus and Narcissa joined them, which usually resulted in Severus, Draco and Narcissa having a miniature chess tournament between the three of them, with Harry and Remus admitting defeat after the first few games and contending themselves with watching as the three Slytherins tore each other apart on the chess board. On one such evening Remus had produced a set of cards for Exploding Snap and within no time there were two fierce competitions running in parallel. 

Harry loved those evenings. When they all sat there—talking sometimes quietly, sometimes animatedly about Quidditch, about how Draco had always refused to get dressed after his bath as a toddler, or how Severus had brought home the wrong child from the playground instead of two-year-old Draco once because all the children there had sported the same blond hair—Harry felt as if someone had wrapped him in warm cotton, soft and soothing. They felt the most like a family in those moments and he cherished that feeling above all else.

It was on one such evening that the idea of Remus supervising the DA came up. Harry had been devising lesson plans for weeks already, including anything he considered potentially helpful during the upcoming war. Remus’ training had long since exceeded the limits of what was taught at Hogwarts, especially since Severus had joined them as well, teaching Harry spells that ranged much further into the dark arts than Remus’ curriculum had. He didn’t particularly like the idea of using such violent spells, but Harry knew that in order to have a chance at winning this war he had to use any means available to him. So he accepted the instruction and learnt the spells. The only time he balked was when Severus wanted him to learn Sectumsempra—the curse that had almost killed him all those weeks ago. Eventually, he had relented with a frown and shot the spell against a tree, tearing deep gashes into the bark. No spells like that were ever considered for the DA. He stuck to Remus’ teachings for that, hence why he wanted Remus to come and supervise.

“It’s perfect,” stated Harry with an air of finality.

Remus chuckled. “It would certainly be a welcome change from Order meetings and boredom. We’ll have to get Albus’ approval though.”

“I’ll handle Dumbledore,” said Harry dismissively.

He would simply tell the headmaster that he had chosen a supervisor once they were back at school. Dumbledore needed him in this war, he wouldn’t risk jeopardising Harry’s goodwill by refusing Remus to supervise the DA once a week.

Overall, time passed peacefully, pleasantly and productively. After finalising the two notebooks for Draco and himself, Harry had crafted a similar thing to communicate with Severus—this time in form of a simple small scroll on which messages erased themselves after they’d been answered. He had offered to make two more for Remus and Narcissa, but Remus had only smiled and reminded him of Sirius’ mirror, while Narcissa insisted on regular letters from him when he went back to school instead. For the first time in his life, Harry almost wished summer wouldn’t end so soon, his usual desperation to return to Hogwarts replaced with the longing to stay here with his family. With Draco.

But the end of the summer holidays was approaching fast, and with it the impending reunion with Ron and Hermione. They had written to each other much more since Harry’s birthday—much to Hedwig’s delight—but most things of relevance were too sensitive to put down in a letter, which meant that they were stuck until they met again. Hermione had demanded explanations for Harry’s use of wandless magic, emphasising how dangerous it could be and berating him for not researching it enough before _just doing it._ He wasn’t as bothered by it as he’d expected himself to be. Instead, he had written her a three page letter explaining as well as he could how the wandless healing forms worked, which had successfully distracted Hermione from her irritation—at least judging from the next letter, but who knew with Hermione.

Ron on the other hand was most excited about Harry being Quidditch Captain, and Harry got the distinct impression that his best friend was actively avoiding to bring up anything that could even remotely be related to Draco or Severus. He even avoided asking how Harry was doing. 

Harry knew that Ron was probably struggling to accept that his best friend was not only the son of the Head of Slytherin, but also _dating_ a Slytherin. Ron’s house-prejudices were rather intense, now that Harry thought about it, bordering on problematic. 

When he brought it up to Draco, he just snorted and replied with a shrug, “He’s not the only one, what do you think why Slytherins always travel in groups? We’re being hexed at every turn if we don’t, most people write us off as evil the moment we’re sorted.” Harry’s disbelieving reaction then prompted Draco to tell him stories of how Slytherins were frequently targeted by the rest of the school. Harry was appalled.

“Seriously, Potter, how have you never noticed that? You hexed me plenty yourself,” Draco inflected with a sarcastic sneer.

“But that was _you!_ We were rivals, we fought each other, it went both ways!” cried Harry. “I would never hex a random student just because they’re in Slytherin.”

“I know _you_ wouldn’t, love,” Draco appeased. “But the majority of people isn’t like you. The majority of people are judgemental and self-righteous about the judgement they dole out.”

“Well, there are also plenty of Slytherins hexing people from other houses,” Harry argued.

“Of course, we give as good as we get. It’s a vicious cycle, because anything we do to defend ourselves just reinforces their belief that all Slytherins are blood-supremacists waiting to join the Dark Lord. And unfortunately they’re not even completely wrong with it. Slytherin house is full of pure-blooded Death Eater children who, like me, have grown up with blood-supremacy drilled into them.” Draco sighed. “It is what it is.”

“No,” Harry refused. “I won’t accept that it has to be this way, there has to be a solution to it.”

“Let me know once you find it, oh Chosen One,” Draco jested, turning back to his book.

 _I will,_ Harry thought stubbornly. 

The issue stayed on his mind after that conversation. Why did Ron have such an anti-Slytherin bias? Harry knew he’d already had it before he came to Hogwarts, given that Slytherin’s alleged evil streak had been among the first things he ever told Harry about. But why? “Evil” wasn’t a core-trait of Slytherin, and not every student sorted into the house was a pure-blood either, nor were all pure-bloods sorted there by default—the entire Weasley family was pure-blooded and had been sorted into Gryffindor without exception.

Hoping that it might even have a positive side-effect on her tolerance towards Draco, he asked Hermione about it in his next letter. Her response came only a day later and she seemed to agree that the categorically negative view of Slytherin was not entirely fair. Reading through her letter, Harry was surprised at how much background there seemed to be to the social perception of the four houses. 

Slytherin’s bad reputation seemed to stem mostly from its association with dark wizards that had been sorted there, combined with a tendency to misconstrue ambition as ruthlessness. Hermione had included a book recommendation in her letter, and Harry was thrilled to find the tome in the library downstairs. In it he found accounts of the lives of the most famous witches and wizards from each house, regardless of what they were famous for. Harry honestly had never even heard of most of them, but some even he recognised. Merlin, the greatest wizard in history, had been a Slytherin apparently. Uric the Cruel, however, famous for his bloodthirsty pursuit of power showed in brutally slaughtering half the Wizengamot in the late Middle Ages, had been a Gryffindor.

In the end, Harry had to admit that there seemed to be more dark witches and wizards coming out of Slytherin compared to the other three houses, but there also seemed to be more good ones. There were just more famous Slytherins in general, and the reasons for their fame were more diverse than in the other houses. 

Most Gryffindors gained fame through winning some battle, waging some war or similarly bold and brave deeds. Ravenclaws tended to be scholars, famous for breakthroughs in magical theory or wand-lore or something like that. Not all of them, mind; there was one in particular, Henry Moretz, who became famous for defending a village from a beast by drawing its attention to himself until the villagers could flee, which was a rather Gryffindor move in Harry’s opinion. Hufflepuff had mostly produced healers and philanthropists, but even from the house that valued kindness had come some bad ones.

It gave Harry plenty to think about. He continued to interrogate Draco about how life in Slytherin was, and for the first time since his sorting Harry wondered whether he’d made the right choice to ask the hat for Gryffindor. Slytherin seemed to have so much more…camaraderie. How ironic.

The full moon came and went with Harry spending the first few hours of Remus’ transformation at his side, until Severus sternly sent him to bed, promising to stay with Remus in his absence. 

As the month now rapidly neared its end, Remus reminded them that they’d have to go to Diagon Alley to buy their school books soon. Harry only narrowly kept himself from throwing a minor tantrum when all three adults were adamant that Harry and Draco could not risk being seen together and they’d have to go separately. Resigned, he eventually agreed to Hermione’s request to go together a few days before term started. Draco convinced Narcissa to at least go on the same day, even if they had to keep their distance.

It was a rainy Friday and Harry was meeting Ron and Hermione at the Leaky Cauldron. Remus gave him a cheery smile as they stepped outside into the rain to apparate—they really had to fix the Floo access at Grimmauld Place—and Harry tried to find the same enthusiasm for the day ahead of him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t missed Ron and Hermione, he definitely had, but seeing them meant either confronting a whole slab of uncomfortable topics in public or endure hours of subliminal awkward tension as they all carefully refrained from addressing them. It was impossible to predict which it was going to be—either was equally likely depending on their moods.

“Harry!” 

Hermione slammed into him barely a second after he’d stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, hugging him tightly. He chuckled softly and hugged her back, his eyes finding Ron who was hanging back a little with Ginny.

“Hey Hermione,” he said, smiling down at her. She returned it and some of Harry’s apprehension melted away. They were his best friends, they’d be able to figure this out. It just took some time to adjust. He greeted Ron and Ginny with a quick hug for each.

“Are you here alone?” asked Harry as they made their way through the pub towards Diagon Alley, barely able to believe that Mrs— Molly would allow such a thing.

“Mum and Dad are just outside with Tonks,” answered Ginny. “The Ministry caught wind that you’ll be accompanying us and insisted on having an Auror battalion coming with—Dad somehow managed to talk it down so it’s just Tonks.”

“How the hell did they hear about that?” 

“We think Scrimgeour himself might’ve overheard,” Ginny explained. “He’s been dropping by the Burrow _constantly_ , always asking for you, even though we’ve told him a million times that you are not and will not be staying with us the entire summer.”

Harry pulled a face. Remus had mentioned that Scrimgeour was very keen to find him, but he hadn’t expected the man to harass the Weasleys because of it.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that crap just because people know that I’m close to you.”

“It’s not so bad,” Ginny dismissed his apology cheerfully. “He’s a wonderful target for pranks, last time I doused his jacket with an odor that attracts the garden-gnomes, it was rather hilarious to watch.”

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” Hermione chided, but Harry saw her lips twitch a little.

“I thought it was brilliant,” Ron chimed in. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Of course you did.”

“The house has been too quiet since the twins moved out into their flat,” Ron complained.

“And here I thought you didn’t like all the bustle in the house since Phlegm arrived,” Ginny shot back.

“Hold on, Phlegm? Who the hell is Phlegm?” Harry asked, confused.

“Fleur,” Hermione filled him in.

“Fleur? What’s the big issue with Fleur for you to call her Phlegm?”

“She’s just—” Ginny made a gagging noise. 

Harry just looked back and forth between the three in utter bewilderment. Ron’s face was slightly red, while Ginny and Hermione shared identical looks of irritation. He had noticed a few colder glances between the Weasley women and Fleur at his birthday, but he hadn’t expected that much animosity.

“Okay?” he said slowly. Perhaps it was best to just let the subject go if it irritated Hermione and Ginny so much.

“Mum hates her, too,” Ginny stated as if that settled the matter. “She’d much rather Bill would marry Tonks. She’s an Auror.”

Harry was about to respond that Fleur was quite a skilled witch herself—she’d been a Triwizard Champion after all—when the real Tonks appeared at his side without warning.

“Wotcher, Harry! Blimey, you look even more different than the last time I saw you,” she said with open amazement, before quickly adding, “Handsome, though! It’s a good look on you.”

Harry gave her a bewildered smile and a mumbled “Thank you,” and he was glad when she turned her attention to Remus instead of him.

After greeting both Molly, who almost crushed his ribs with the hug she gave him, and Arthur, they were finally off towards the shops. As they wandered down the alley, Harry couldn’t help looking for a familiar head of blond hair, but to his dismay he never found it. He did notice other things though. The alley was much less crowded than the last time he’d been here, and everything looked…dull somehow. Perhaps it was the permanent fog that shrouded everything in a grey veil that gave it all such a bleak atmosphere, but Harry also noticed that more than a few shops seemed to be closed—for good.

“Oh no,” Hermione suddenly whispered, halting abruptly. 

Harry followed her gaze and his insides tightened a little. Ollivander’s store front was in shambles, broken glass littering the floor behind the windows, the door hanging lopsided from its hinges. Even if he hadn’t already known, anyone could see that Ollivander had not closed and left his shop willingly.

“What do you think happened to him?” Ron asked in a hushed voice.

Harry almost answered, holding himself back at the last second. He glanced over at Remus, who gave him the tiniest shake of his head. Classified information then, they couldn’t risk anyone overhearing that Harry knew about it. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to lie outright, so he resorted to a wordless shrug and continued down the alley. Thankfully, the others followed after barely a second and dropped the subject. 

Harry’s mind, however, lingered on to the wandmaker. Why had Voldemort taken him? The question had been haunting him ever since Severus had told them about Voldemort’s latest hostage. Since his Occlumency had improved to a level where he was able to fend off even genuine attempts of Severus to break into his mind, his visions of Voldemort had practically stopped completely. He still felt occasional twinges of pain in his scar, but he never saw into Voldemort’s mind anymore. He was loath to admit that he missed it sometimes—not because he liked it, but because he felt like he’d lost an edge that he’d had over him. It had saved Arthur’s life, hadn’t it? What if he could have saved another life if he hadn’t blocked Voldemort out?

 _It saved Arthur, but it killed Sirius,_ a vicious voice in his mind reminded him, and he pushed the thought away.

They quickly made their way to Madam Malkin’s to get new school robes, while Molly and Arthur took off to Flourish and Blotts to get their books for them, apparently content with having Remus and Tonks watch them. Just as they stepped inside the little shop, Harry heard a familiar voice that made his heart skip a beat. 

_Draco._

Walking around a rack of dress robes, Harry saw Draco stand patiently on a stool, talking to Narcissa as the seamstress put a row of pins along the hem of his robes. Grey eyes found Harry’s in the mirror and lit up with joy even as Draco froze. 

If Harry hadn’t known him so well, he wouldn’t even have noticed that the Slytherin had gone rigid. He felt his own heart thump in his chest. They’d discussed this. Nobody could know about them, so they’d have to act as enemies in public. Even if the public was the inside of a stuffy robe shop with nobody here except them and people who already knew. Well, except Tonks, but she wouldn’t care, would she?

“Look what we have here, the Chosen One and his sidekicks,” Draco drawled, twisting his mouth into a disdainful sneer.

The expression was uncomfortably familiar and so convincing it felt like being doused with ice water. _It’s not real_ , Harry reminded himself. _It’s just an act._

“Malfoy,” he said coldly, hoping his face hadn’t betrayed his feelings. 

Picking a set of school robes from a rack he made towards the changing rooms. He let out a sigh of relief as soon as he was behind the safety of the curtain. If this was how he was going to feel every time, their charade was going to be much harder than anticipated. 

Harry took his time to pull on the robes, hoping incessantly that Draco would already be done by the time he went back out. He lingered so long that he was only half-surprised when the sound of a curtain being pulled back announced someone entering his cubicle.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, sorry, I—” He broke off as he turned around and was only able to catch a glimpse of platinum hair before he was pushed back against the wall and Draco kissed him.

“Hey,” he breathed a little dazedly.

“Hey,” Draco smirked. “You really take an awfully long time to get changed, Potter. Waiting for someone to come and watch?”

Harry chuckled softly and shook his head. “No, I was waiting for someone to be _gone_ so I wouldn’t have to hear him pretending to hate me.”

Draco’s smirk faded. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, you only did what we agreed on. It’s just— You’re a good actor.” He tried to smile but it felt like a grimace.

Draco frowned and dropped his forehead against Harry’s, whispering, “I hate this.”

“I know, me too,” Harry replied softly, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist to pull him close.

They stayed unmoving for a moment, then Harry reluctantly dropped his arms and nudged Draco so he could step away from the wall.

“I should get going. See you at home?”

Draco nodded and Harry dropped a final kiss to his lips before quickly slipping out of the changing room. Hermione eyed him suspiciously as he took his place on a stool beside her, but nobody commented on his apparent tardiness. Draco didn’t emerge immediately and when he finally did, he ignored them completely, paying swiftly for his robes and exiting the shop without a single word, Narcissa joining him at the door where she’d been waiting for him. Neither of them even looked at Harry.

“What was that all about? I thought you and M—”

“Not here!” hissed Harry, cutting Ron off mid-sentence.

They stayed silent until their robes were fitted and paid for and they were out on the street again. Harry steeled himself for their questions as an uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

“So,” Hermione began hesitantly, but Ron cut her off, blurting out, “You and Malfoy called it quits again then? I can’t say I’m surprised, he’s—”

“We didn’t,” Harry interrupted harshly, trying to contain his irritation. “And would you mind terribly to keep it down a little? There’s a reason he didn’t join us today.”

Ron snapped his mouth shut, cheeks reddening a little.

“Why didn’t he?” asked Hermione.

Harry sighed. “People can’t know about us.”

Hermione frowned. “But on your birthday you said—”

“And I meant that, but circumstances have changed,” sighed Harry.

“How so?”

Harry cast a wary glance around. The alley was practically empty, but somehow that didn’t make him feel any more comfortable to discuss information he got from Severus. If anyone overheard them…

They rounded a corner and Harry was pulled out of his thoughts by the incredibly bright storefront in front of them. The contrast to the dull, grey buildings flanking the twins’ shop was beyond stark, and Harry was struck speechless for a moment. 

Everything in the left-hand window _moved_ —Harry was fairly sure there were fireworks going off, though it was difficult to tell with how colourful it all was. The right-hand window was covered with an equally colourful poster advertising _U-NO-POO_ in bright yellow letters. A disbelieving laugh that quickly turned into giggles of pure delight escaped him. Molly looked horrified at his side, repeatedly mouthing “U-No-Poo” in disbelief.

“Wicked,” Ron beamed. Apparently the twins’ shop had distracted him sufficiently to drop the subject of Harry’s relationship for now. Hermione rolled her eyes and shot Harry a significant look. 

He nodded to her and whispered, “Yes, we’ll talk about it later.”

They stepped into the shop and Harry felt a little overwhelmed by…everything. The inside was pure mayhem of jumbled sounds, colours and movement. And it was _packed_ with people. Harry had never seen anything that fit Fred and George better. As if summoned by the thought, the twins descended upon them with gleeful expressions on their faces.

“Welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes! We have everything—”

“—your heart desires. Do you want to get out of class,—”

“—prank your friends,—”

“—or find love? Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes has your back!”

Harry laughed and gave them a round of applause, to which they bowed dramatically. Fred opened his mouth to say more but was cut off by Molly who started to berate them for the poster in the window, and Harry quickly ducked away to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. The amount of people in the shop made it difficult to reach the shelves, but Harry managed to squeeze through after a few minutes only to notice that he’d lost Ron and Hermione in the process. For a moment he considered going back, but the crowd of people pushed him further into the store and he decided to just get back to them later.

After a few minutes of browsing the shelves and knocking into at least a dozen people in the process, a familiar voice called out to him again.

“Harry!” George flung his arm around Harry’s shoulders, apparently having escaped from his mother. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, follow me!” And with that he pulled him away. Harry stumbled after George who turned their slow struggle through the shop into somewhat of a tour, pointing out their different product ranges. All of a sudden, the mass of people thinned as George pulled him into a much more muted room at the back of the shop where Fred seemed to be waiting for them.

“There he is, our dearest investor!” Fred beamed at him. “Did George give you the tour? Splendid! We figured it’d be best not to say anything in front of Ron—nobody really knows where we got the money to start the shop—but you, my dear Harrykins, take whatever you like, no charge. You have a life-long 100 percent discount.”

“No profit margin?” Harry joked. 

To his horror, George gave him a contemplative look and nodded. “We should probably talk about that eventually, yes.”

“What? No, I was joking, don’t worry about that,” Harry amended quickly, but the twins wore matching expressions of rare seriousness now.

“No, no, you’re absolutely right, Harry. Really, without you we never would’ve managed to get the shop. We’ll figure it out next time, alright?” said Fred.

“Uh, sure. It’s really not necessary, though,” replied Harry, feeling slightly awkward about it all.

“Ever the generous donor,” Fred jested, before pulling Harry towards the shelves. “You’ll change your mind once you see where we’ll make our real profit: Our new defensive collection! Portable shield charms, glamours and temporary disillusionment charms—although we’re still working on perfecting those.”

“Impressive,” Harry said admiringly as he inspected the products. “What’s that?”

“Instant Darkness Powder, imported from Peru,” Fred announced proudly. “Dead useful if you need to make a quick disappearance. Twice as effective if used together with a Decoy Detonator.”

“That’s brilliant!”

“Want anything?”

Harry considered for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I think I’m good for now. I’ll let you know if I ever need something.”

“You better,” grinned George as they returned to the main room of the shop. “Still seeing your Slytherin?”

Harry narrowed his eyes and nodded.

Fred laughed and put up his hands defensively. “Don’t worry, just making sure. So, we don’t hate Malfoy anymore?”

“No, we don’t.”

“Alright then, we trust your judgement. He does seem to have changed quite a bit,” Fred shrugged.

“Thank you.”

“Harry, there you are!” Hermione called. Her and Ginny were standing by a shelf painted entirely in pink, filled with countless vials of various shapes.

“Love potions, little sister?” Fred teased Ginny. “Didn’t think you needed any help with that, or is the rumour I hear about you and Dean Thomas a fabrication?”

Ginny bristled, put the round little bottle she’d been holding back onto the shelf and snapped, “None of your business!”

Ginny and Dean? Harry had to admit that it was rather surprising. For some reason he’d been fairly certain that Dean was dating Seamus. But perhaps he’d misread their relationship, he wasn’t _that_ close with either of them.

“Oi Fred, George,” Ron called, appearing seemingly out of nowhere besides Harry. “How much for this?”

“Three galleons, seven sickles,” George answered promptly.

“I don’t have three galleons and seven sickles! Don’t I get a family discount as your brother?”

“No, three galleons and seven sickles or put it back where you found it.”

Ron scowled. For a moment Harry considered getting the Trick Wand and Nosebleed Nougat he was holding for him, but the thought of exploiting the twins’ generosity towards him felt wrong, so he said nothing as Ron put the things back on the shelves with a sour expression.

In the short vacuum of conversation, Hermione rounded on Harry immediately, demanding, “Harry, I would like that explanation now.”

Harry sighed. “You know I would explain if I could, Hermione, but if you haven’t noticed we’re in the middle of a crowd.”

“We can help with that,” Fred chimed in, grinning broadly. 

Harry eyed him sceptically. Fred laughed and gestured for them to follow him as he led them towards an inconspicuous door behind the register. They found themselves in a stairway and Harry realised that it must lead to the flat Ron had mentioned the twins now lived in. Fred unlocked the door at the top of the stairs with a flick of his wand and motioned them inside.

The twins’ flat was as colourful as their shop. Two couches, one blue and one red, flanked a purple coffee table in the middle of the living room. A wooden table stood by the window, right next to an open door that led into the kitchen. The other three doors were closed, but Harry figured they must lead to the bathroom and Fred and George’s rooms respectively.

“I have to get back to the shop, make yourselves comfortable and just close the door when you leave. The wards should reset themselves,” said Fred. 

Before either of them could answer he’d already shut the door behind himself, leaving Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny standing alone in the twins’ living room.

“Oh well,” sighed Harry, “might as well do as he says.” 

He dropped down onto the blue couch and set his bags full of books and robes down on the floor. Ron and Ginny followed suit, settling on the red couch, and Hermione only hesitated a couple seconds before sitting down next to Harry.

“So,” Hermione began again as she had after leaving the robe shop, “what happened between you and Malf— Draco?”

“Nothing happened between us,” Harry answered irritably, “we’re still together. He didn’t come with us because nobody can know that we are.”

“You already said that, but why not? I thought you didn’t want to keep your relationship secret,” asked Hermione.

“No, I don’t _want_ to keep it secret, but we have to because there’s going to be a Death Eater at Hogwarts next year.” All three of them gasped. Harry nodded gravely. “Voldemort managed to recruit a student despite Draco’s disappearance. Whoever it is was tasked with killing Dumbledore. Since it’s most likely to be a Slytherin, Draco would be in danger if anyone found out about our relationship.”

“Bloody hell,” muttered Ron.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “So we’ve decided that it’d be best to keep up appearances, pretend we still hate each other in public, meet in secret.”

“But Harry,” Hermione argued, “you’re not even in the same house, how will you possibly be able to see each other?”

“Yeah mate,” Ron agreed, “wouldn’t it be better to just…y’know, end it now? Before you’re in too deep and it hurts more when it doesn’t work out.”

Harry’s expression darkened and he felt irritation bubble up again in his gut. 

“Oh please, don’t pretend you give a shit about my feelings, Ron,” he snapped angrily. “You want me to break up with him because you don’t like him, nothing more and nothing less. Were you maybe hoping it was already over? I haven’t forgotten what you said earlier. We will make it work, no matter how difficult it is.”

Ron’s face turned crimson and he seemed lost for words. Ginny shot him a reproachful look that made him shrink away from her, and Harry felt a wave of gratitude for her.

“You won’t even be able to communicate with each other, or were you planning on sending each other owls across the Great Hall?” Hermione went on undeterred.

“As a matter of fact we’ve already solved the issue of communication,” Harry shot back, a hint of pride in his voice.

Hermione looked surprised. “You have?”

“Yes, we have,” Harry affirmed and bent down to pull his notebook out of his bag. 

He handed it to Hermione with a pleased smile. She eyed it critically, opened it, leafed through it, inspected it, until she finally looked up at Harry with narrowed eyes.

“It’s a journal,” she stated flatly. Harry nodded, still smiling. “How does a journal solve the issue of you and Draco communicating?”

“It’s linked to another one, a counterpart so to speak,” Harry explained. “If you write in one of them and activate the Protean charm, whatever you’ve written immediately appears in the counterpart, the receiving one chimes, and the ink in the sending one changes colour.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. She inspected the book again, running her fingers over the cover. “A double-sided Protean charm?”

Harry nodded. “There’s also a privacy spell on it, so you won’t be able to read what we’ve written so far.”

“Wait, the book isn’t actually empty?” She gave him an incredulous look.

“No, we’ve tested them a few times already,” said Harry, grinning widely now.

“Wow,” Hermione breathed. “I didn’t realise Draco was _that_ good at charms.”

Harry laughed, to which Hermione gave him a puzzled stare. 

“Draco didn’t charm these, I did.”

The expression on Hermione’s face was one of pure and utter disbelief. 

She shook her head. “No, I don’t believe you. I _know_ how good you are at charms and, no offence, this is way beyond your skill-level!”

He shrugged and replied, “I’ve improved quite a bit over the summer with being able to actually study and all instead of being stuck at the Dursley’s.”

“Harry, a normal, one sided Protean charm like I did last year for the DA galleons is already N.E.W.T. level magic that we won’t learn until seventh year. A _double-sided_ Protean charm is way beyond that, especially with all those modifications you claim to have added—the ink changing colour, the chiming—hell, even the privacy charm on this is N.E.W.T. level!”

Harry shrugged again. “It took a few days, but I managed.”

She stared at him wide-eyed. He wasn’t sure how to interpret her tone when she finally asked, “And it works?”

“Do you have so little faith in me? Yes, it works,” he replied, getting a little uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

She kept staring at him for a few more seconds, then handed the notebook back to him with a shake of her head.

“Well then, I suppose you do have the communication issue figured out,” she admitted, but Harry got the impression that she was unhappy about something. He decided not to ask, she’d come to him eventually if it was important.

As he faced forward again he found Ron and Ginny looking impressed.

“What?” he asked, trying not to let his irritation bleed into his tone.

“You did all this for _Malfoy?”_ asked Ron, his face scrunching up as if he was in pain.

“Of course,” Harry replied evenly. “I told you last time already that Draco is a part of my life now, he won’t just disappear again.”

Ron squirmed a little, but eventually gave Harry a defeated nod, saying, “Alright, alright. Message received, the ferret is here to stay. But I stand with it: I won’t hang out with Malfoy for you.”

“I never expected you to,” said Harry. “It’d be nice if you could stop openly hoping for my relationship to fail, though.” His icy tone made Ron flinch a little.

“Sorry,” he murmured, then cried, “Ouch!” when Ginny smacked him on the back of his head. “What the hell, Ginny?”

“You deserved it,” she said innocently, “for being a shitty friend to Harry.”

“As if you liked Malfoy any better!” Ron retorted angrily.

“I might not like him, no, but anyone with a brain can see that Harry is happy with him, and isn’t that what matters?”

“Thanks, Ginny,” said Harry gratefully, giving her a broad smile. 

She returned it with a wink and declared, “People like us have to stick together.”

“People like us?”

“Yeah, people that are able to get a date,” Ginny explained, and Harry burst out laughing. “We have to protect each other from all the grief those sad, single babies are giving us.”

“Definitely,” Harry laughed.

Ron crossed his arms looking extremely put out, but when Ginny began to mock-console him for his pouting he quickly suggested to go back downstairs to the shop to escape her. They bid the twins goodbye before exiting the shop where the four adults were waiting for them.

“What took so long?” asked Remus as they made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron.

“Fred and George showed us their flat,” replied Harry. 

Judging from the look on Remus’ face the man knew that there was more to it, but he knew better than to ask while they were out in the open.

They reached the pub only a few minutes later and Harry quickly said his goodbyes to Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Molly, and Arthur before they all flooed back to the Burrow. He turned to say goodbye to Tonks, but she had her eyes fixed on Remus, giving him a dazzling smile.

“Would you want to grab a drink? You mentioned that Harry can apparate himself, so you don’t need to bring him home,” she said in an uncharacteristically shy tone.

Harry had to stop himself from snorting. Was she _flirting_ with Remus? If she was, he didn’t seem to be too excited about it, judging from the tightness around his eyes as he smiled and shook his head.

“He doesn’t have a licence, I’m afraid, and we really should be getting home,” Remus replied. He held out his arm for Harry to grab on to.

“Oh, well then another time,” she said, sounding disappointed. Her smile returned though when she turned to Harry, saying, “Bye, Harry, take care of yourself!”

“Bye Tonks,” he replied with a smile, and then Remus turned on the spot and apparated them back to Grimmauld Place.

Harry let go of his arm and grinned up at him. “Anything I should know about you and Tonks? She seemed rather interested in your company—and _only_ your company.”

Remus gave a pained laugh and said, “I think she fancies me, but I have no idea how to make her understand that it’s one-sided.”

“Just tell her?” Harry suggested.

Remus gave him a reproving look. “It’s not that easy.”

“No?” Harry grinned. “Too bad, Tonks is cool.”

“No,” Remus insisted. “Now go pack your books and robes, I don’t want you having to pack in a hurry tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine,” Harry laughed, “I’m already leaving.”

He spent the next hour packing his trunk with Draco’s help, who had returned before him. When they were finally done, Harry looked around in the room. Only a few things were missing, given that he hadn’t brought a huge amount of personal things with him to begin with, but it still felt odd to see their bedroom so empty with all their stuff packed. One more day and they’d be going back to Hogwarts. One more day and he couldn’t share a bed with Draco anymore, one more day and he couldn’t even _talk_ to either Draco or Severus.

“What are you thinking about, love?” asked Draco softly, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist from behind and pulling him flush against his chest.

“I don’t want to go,” Harry replied. “It’s the first time I don’t want to go back to Hogwarts by the end of the summer, but I love it here. I love being here with you and Severus and Remus and Narcissa.”

“I know, me too. But we’ll make it work, alright? We’ll find ways.”

“Yeah, we will.”

One more day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Harry go off on a tangent about historical figures from the four houses in the middle there? Yes, yes he did. Why? Because I got distracted while writing as Harry and if that isn’t ADHD in its purest form idk what is, so I left it in even though it’s _utterly_ random and will probably never matter again.
> 
> Alright my friends, here we go, back to Hogwarts!  
> That means that the first part (Summer) of this fic is done, and we’re on to the second part. I will still include as many Severus and Remus POVs as possible, but from here on out it’s probably gonna be increasingly Harry and Draco focused (Harry even more than Draco), because that’s where most of the story happens, naturally.  
> Don’t fret, that doesn’t mean Snupin will be forgotten, it’s just that at some point we gotta get some actual plot done, right?  
> As already announced, I'll take some time now to build my head start again, so don't fret if the next update doesn't come as quickly - nothing is abandoned, my draft is at over 200K by now and I shall be back. 
> 
> From now on, I’ll include this disclaimer a lot more, just to be safe:
> 
> _These characters are not mine (except Sirona, I fully claim her) and any similarities to the original Half-Blood Prince book belong to JKR!_
> 
> On another note: I am looking for an _Alpha Reader!_ If you'd like to help out, message me on Discord (V.#1717) or [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/zaharya)!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it and are ready for Part 2: Hogwarts. I posted a [synopsis](https://zaharya.tumblr.com/post/641368727371300864/mine-to-protect-synopsis-of-part-1-summer) of part 1 on Tumblr, in case you want to refresh your memory without a full re-read.
> 
> — Z.
> 
> Also, the actual coolest thing: My best friend and editor/alpha/beta-reader [PotionDaddy (Alex)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionDaddy) wrote a little ficlet prompted by that paragraph of Severus telling stories about child Draco! You should go check it out [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28775142)


	31. NOT A CHAPTER - AUTHOR'S NOTE regarding upload delay

Hello everyone!

This is not (yet) a chapter update! Sorry about that, I intended to resume uploading and start part 2 at the beginning of March, since I expected to finish chapter 42 by then. Unfortunately, I found myself somewhat stuck at chapter 40.

Last week I made a rather big change to my timeline which resolved that block (yay). However, this also means that I have to rewrite 4 full chapters, which is going to take a little while. To make waiting a bit easier, though, I’ll post little (spoiler-free) snippets of the chapters I’m writing on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/zaharya) — so if you ever doubt whether there’s still progress being made, hit me up there and I’ll gladly reassure you ;)

To avoid anyone worrying: I have no intention of abandoning MTP! This story is my baby and I will see it through no matter what. Part 2 is just turning out to be a little more complicated than expected, and I don’t wanna rush it with subpar writing that needs huge edits after posting.

On another note: I am looking for an _Alpha Reader!_ If you'd like to help out, message me on Discord (V.#1717) or [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/zaharya)!

I hope you aren’t too disappointed about the extended wait, I promise the changed timeline is better for the story!

In the meantime, come find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/zaharya) for little sneak-peeks.  
MTP will continue as soon as possible!

Love,  
Zaharya (V.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [They Were All Blond, Narcissa!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28775142) by [PotionDaddy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionDaddy/pseuds/PotionDaddy)




End file.
